Same Old Song
by CaitlynMacKenzie
Summary: Someone from Logan's past needs HIS help and Veronica isn't too happy about it. The next mystery in my Learning to Count on You series.
1. Trouble Walkin

CHAPTER ONE

Veronica pulled open the front door to reveal a tall, leggy redhead. "Can I help you?"

The woman hesitated, looked at the paper in her hand and then back to Veronica. "No, I don't think you can. I'm sorry, I…" Her face crumpled and her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. A quick shake of her head and her composure returned. "I must have the wrong house."

"Veronica, do you want—" He froze, jaw slack with surprise.

"Logan?" The redhead rushed past her into the house and threw herself into Logan's arms.

Instead of pushing the strange woman away, Veronica's _husband_ actually pulled her _closer_ , a smile crossing his face. One of the rare smiles- easy and unguarded, imbued with genuine warmth and happiness. His eyes flicked to Veronica and the smile faltered.

"It is you. I was afraid…" Redhead started crying and Logan gently stroked her back, soothing and comforting her. _What the hell was going on?_ "I'm in trouble. I need money fast and you're the…I need two-hundred grand."

He gripped her shoulders and leaned back to see her face. "Whoa, slow down. What kind of trouble requires two-hundred grand?"

Redhead took a deep breath. "It's—" She stopped talking and glanced back at the door. "Did he call you Veronica?"

 _Yes, because it's my name_. She kept the snotty thought to herself and just nodded.

" _The_ Veronica?" Redhead was staring at Logan waiting for an answer.

He nodded. "I sent you a wedding invitation, but I didn't hear from you."

Stunned was the only way to describe her expression, but then a wide grin split her face. "I knew it! I told you if you stopped being a fuckup she'd come back." She shook her head. "Married? Holy shit, I'm sorry I missed it." Her smile died and the tears started flowing again. "I'm not in Vegas anymore."

 _Pam Mitchell_. Leggy redhead, wedding invitation, and Vegas were all the clues Veronica needed to put together the mystery woman's identity. Turning away from the two of them, she closed the front door and briefly rested her forehead against the jamb. Dealing with her husband's ex who was both in trouble and needed money was a radical change to her afternoon plan. She kissed her nap goodbye and moved away from the door.

Logan wasn't holding her anymore, but his hands were still resting on Pam's shoulders. "When did you leave Vegas?"

Pam's eyes clouded and a slight frown puckered her brow. "Right after I saw you and Carrie in Chicago?" She laid her head on Logan's chest. "God, I'm so glad you're here; I was afraid you'd be deployed."

They made a striking couple. At almost the same height, their bodies fit together; her lush curves molding perfectly to his hard muscular frame. Veronica felt like an interloper.

"I left the Navy."

Dropping her arms from his waist, Pam took a step back and then another. Her gaze moved beyond his shoulder and landed on Veronica, a hostile expression on her face. "Why?"

"Long story." Logan dragged a hand through his hair as he glanced at Veronica and then back to Pam. "Uh… do you want to have lunch with us?"

Not waiting for her answer, Veronica stalked from the room. If she was lucky the baby would sleep for an hour and she wasn't going to spend that time being glared at by Pam. She frowned. It was learning that Logan left the Navy that earned Veronica the nasty look. _What's that about?_

Plates and glasses for two were already set out on the kitchen table along with a spinach salad. She took down another set of dishes and ladled out a generous serving of black bean soup. Logan sidled up behind her, slid his hand under the bowl and lifted it from her hand. "I've got this, you go sit."

Veronica tilted her head back to see him and he kissed her nose. His eyes were troubled and his brow was furrowed with worry lines. _Probably thinks I'm jealous_. To alleviate his fear, she smiled at him before taking her soup back and turning to Pam. "We've got lemonade, juice, or water."

Opening the fridge, she took out the Brita water pitcher for herself and waited on Pam's response.

"Water's fine."

With her hip, Veronica closed the fridge and went to take her seat at the table. Pam lingered in the doorway. She was hugging herself and staring at the floor. Finally, she raised her head and spoke to Logan: "I'm not really hungry."

He dished out a bowl of soup for her anyway. "At least sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Her eyes tracked his progress from the counter to the table and then focused on Wyatt's booster chair. Crossing the room, Pam brushed her fingertips across the green turtle's head. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped her hands over her face. "Boy" —her voice cracked— "Or girl?"

Uneasiness descended over Veronica and she paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth to study Pam. The other woman was watching Logan, waiting for his answer. A grin split his face and his eyes brightened. "A girl. Actually, we have _two_ girls."

His words knocked her back a step and she practically fell into the chair next to him. "I don't… wow, you as a _Dad_? Shit, I'm impressed." A lopsided smile spread over Pam's lips and Veronica relaxed. "You don't waste any time do you?"

"Not when I know what I want." As he spoke, Logan's eyes were locked on Veronica. It was the intense stare that made her want to crawl across the table and do bad things with him. The smug uptick at the corner of his mouth said he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking. She rolled her eyes and he chuckled.

To get her thoughts under control, Veronica filled their water glasses and served the salad. It was made with warm bacon dressing, hard-boiled eggs, and gorgonzola cheese and was her new personal fave. She held out the plate for Pam who shook her head. _Your loss_. "Two hundred thousand dollars," Veronica prompted.

Her husband was used to her bluntness, but Pam was not. She blinked and looked at Logan for rescue. Instead of changing the subject, he asked: "Do you owe it to somebody?"

"No." With an unsteady hand, she picked up her water glass and took a long sip. "When I left Vegas, I rented an apartment in Santa Monica and started waiting tables at a diner."

"Why did you quit the casino?"

Pam fiddled with her glass, dragging a finger up its side to catch the condensation. "It was time for a change."

 _She's lying_. It wasn't outright- more evasion than lying, but there was some piece of information she was withholding. Veronica's general feeling of unease returned. _Maybe I'm being paranoid_. Logan didn't look concerned and he knew Pam better than she did. "Big pay cut," was all he said.

"No shit" —a wry grin— "And the rent was crazy."

"Was? You're not there anymore?"

Veronica was losing patience. She wanted Pam to get to her reason for coming here and why she needed the money. The question _'why Logan'_ almost made it past her lips and she swallowed it down with another spoon of soup. _Come on, Veronica you know the why doesn't matter- Logan's not going to say no_. There was no way her husband would turn down a woman in distress.

"There was this guy." _There always is_. "A customer at the diner and he asked me if I'd ever danced before. I told him about Reno and Vegas and he offered me a job." She didn't make any excuses for her decision and Veronica admired her unabashed attitude. "It was a great deal; I didn't have to pay stage fees or share tips. It was a fifty-fifty split for lap dances though, but I was an employee so," she shrugged.

 _Curiosity engaged_. Veronica sighed and asked, "Stage fees? They make _you_ pay to dance?"

Pam nodded. "Some clubs charge a hundred bucks just for you to work. They take cuts from your tips, make you buy a set amount of drinks during your shift and some places even charge you fines- for being late, chewing gum on stage, not smiling enough."

"Seriously?" Veronica was surprised and a little appalled at the way the clubs were taking advantage of their dancers.

"It's their way of claiming you're an independent contractor instead of an employee. This way they don't have to pay you a minimum wage, or provide disability insurance or workers' comp."

"That's against the law."

Pam grimaced. " _A lot_ of what happens inside some strip clubs is against the law."

Logan was being very quiet. His head was bowed and he was eating his soup like it was his last meal. Veronica rubbed her foot against his leg making him jump. "Cat got your tongue?"

Bailey's crying saved him from having to answer. "I'll get her." He practically sprinted from the kitchen.

Veronica gave him the benefit of the doubt -attributing his eagerness to leave the room because he wanted to quiet Bailey before she woke Wyatt and not a desire to escape a discussion between his wife and his ex about illicit activities inside strip clubs.

"How long has he been out of the Navy?"

"Almost a year." Conversations about strip clubs and money troubles were preferable to this discussion.

Pam was a walking and talking embodiment of the nine years of radio silence. She witnessed Logan's drinking and drug use and sketchy behavior. Helped him through withdrawal, attended his college graduation, and watched him get his wings. Even though Logan let her read his journal, Pam still knew things about her husband that Veronica didn't and it made her uncomfortable.

"How is he?"

 _Too many layers to that question_.

"Happy." Standing, Veronica carried her dishes to the sink. "Are you sure you don't want anything? Coffee?" Gracious hostess was an easier role to play.

"Coffee works."

Logan chose then to return, asking: "Can you make that two?" Bailey was nestled against his chest wide-awake and sucking on her fingers.

Veronica cupped the baby's head. "Hey, Rabbit. How was your _very_ short nap?" At the sound of Veronica's voice, Bay smiled around her fingers and gurgled. "That good, huh?" Lifting the baby's foot, she kissed her toes. "Did you check on Wy?"

He nodded. "Still sleeping."

"Ah, sleep, I did that once back in the day." She pulled three mugs from the cabinet, set the first cup to brew, and went into the living room to get Bailey's bouncer seat. When she walked back into the kitchen, he was in the process of transferring the baby to Pam.

Her grip tightened on the bouncer and she frowned at the two of them. Their chairs were pushed together, shoulders touching and heads bent over the baby. Bailey was gripping Logan's finger and cooing at Pam.

"She's beautiful, Logan." Pam cuddled the baby closer and brushed her fingers over Bailey's cheek.

Veronica slammed the bouncer seat on the table a little harder than intended and all three of them startled at the sound. "How do you want your coffee, Pam?"

"Black is fine."

Turning her back on them, she concentrated on making the coffee. By the time she carried their mugs to the table, Bay was on the floor in her bouncer trying to catch the stuffed giraffe. She swatted at it and kicked her feet making the seat bounce and her squeal.

After handing them their cups, she got her own and rejoined them at the table. "So are you still dancing at this club?" Veronica sipped her coffee and stared at Pam over the rim. _Time to finish your story and go home_.

"Yes and no. Joey-he's the guy who owned the club-started me on the day shift during the week, and then I moved to nights and weekends. After about a year, he made me manager."

 _The upward mobility of stripping_. "You work there, but don't dance."

Pam shook her head. "I still dance —Friday and Saturday nights mostly— plus I fill in for girls who call out sick and we do private parties." Her coffee cup suddenly demanded all her attention. She traced the rim, nudged at the handle, and finally picked it up to take a sip.

It was the mention of private parties that rattled her. Veronica glanced at Logan. In between drinking his coffee, he was making funny faces at the baby trying to make her laugh. She knew he was paying attention to the conversation; yet he wasn't asking any of his own questions. _If I wasn't here would he have just given her the money by now?_ Veronica frowned at the thought. "Did something happen at one of the parties?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at the astute guess. _This ain't my first time at the rodeo, Pam_. "Yes, but… I thought _Joey_ owned Shenanigans so last year when he approached me with a deal, I…" She banged down her mug. "Fuck."

Reaching across the table, Logan placed his hand on hers and gave it a soft squeeze. "It's okay, Red." A fleeting smile at his use of the nickname. "We're going to help you."

 _Thanks for making_ that _decision alone, Echolls_. Veronica stared at their touching hands. "What was the deal?"

Pam followed her gaze to their hands and slid hers off the table, tucking it into her lap.

Logan's head swiveled in Veronica's direction, a frown on his face. Adopting an innocent expression, she gave him a one-shouldered shrug: _beats me what that was about_. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and she turned away.

"Joey knew I was saving money; I make five, six hundred bucks a shift —five shifts a week— plus whatever I earn in the VIP room." She looked away and Veronica wondered what else Pam was doing in the VIP room besides dancing. "I was banking most of it; thought I could open my own club." It was said with a wistful tone like that dream was gone.

"What did Joey—"

Logan cut her off. "Take your time." Her husband was no longer looking at her or the baby, his focus was on Pam's story.

 _Guess he's done with me taking the lead_. Veronica finished her decaf and went to put the mug in the sink. She glanced at the clock. The baby would probably be looking to nurse right around the time Wyatt got up from her nap. If Pam didn't wrap up her story soon, she'd be telling it to just Logan. _Maybe that's what he wants_.

"He offered to make me a partner. I gave him what I had for a twenty-five percent stake in the club. What he didn't tell me was that he already _had_ a partner." She planted her face on the table. "God- I'm such a fucking idiot."

Logan rubbed her shoulder. _Does he have to keep touching her?_ Veronica started to load the dishwasher fully aware that she was being catty. Her husband was a very tactile person. Touch was something that was missing from the early part of his life and it was important to him.

Without lifting it from the table, Pam turned her head. "Sam Carlucci is not somebody you want to be partners with."

"I figured that much out all by myself."

Another one of her crooked smiles- the kind that reached her eyes and lit up her face. "Logan Echolls, boy genius."

"Hey now, I'm well past boy."

"Yeah, I remember." She sat up and tilted her mug. "How 'bout you make yourself useful and hook me up with another cup of coffee."

"Pushy bitch."

Pam tossed her head back —sending cascades of auburn curls over her shoulders— and laughed. "Asshole."

Chuckling, Logan got up and fixed her another cup of coffee. "Do you need the money to pay off Sam?"

She immediately sobered. "I wish it was that simple." Reaching for his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "You've made a really good life for yourself here; I'm proud of you, Logan."

"You helped." They stared at each other and once again Veronica felt like she was intruding on something. "Now let me help you. I can write you a check or I can make a call and get cash."

Relief washed over her. "I'll pay you back, I swear."

He waved away her offer. "Don't worry about it."

 _That's it? Have the money and don't worry about it?_ Veronica shut the dishwasher. "Are you being blackmailed?" The two of them turned to stare at her. "What? If she's being blackmailed they're not going to go away because she pays them. In fact, if she pays them this easily, they're going to think they didn't ask for enough and they're going to make a new demand. A new demand for _more_ \- it's never going to stop."

Pam's face crumbled and Logan looked annoyed.

"You know I'm right."

A solemn nod from Pam. "She _is_ right, but it's… it's not blackmail."

"Then there's no problem." The words were for Pam, but Logan's eyes were on Veronica. "Right?"

Now she was mad. "It's your money- do what you want with it."

"I will."

"Good. Glad that's settled." Tugging open the refrigerator, she pulled out a bag of breast milk and poured four ounces in the Mimijumi bottle. Unlike Wyatt, Bailey was not happy if she wasn't actually nursing. Trying to feed her from a bottle was an unpleasant experience at best, but these anatomically correct, very expensive bottles made it at least sufferable. She stuck it in the bottle warmer.

"I don't want to cause any problems for you."

Logan said: "You're not" at the same time Veronica responded with "No problem at all."

Pressing her hands flat on the countertop, she took a few deep breaths. If she tried feeding the baby while she was angry, Bailey would only fuss and cry more.

"Before you decide to help, I think you need to know the rest of the story." Pam held up her hand to keep him from protesting. "Once I bought into the club, Sam came around to introduce himself."

The way she said the word 'introduce' had Veronica's head spinning around to look at her. Pam's composure was a little shaken, but she pushed back her shoulders and plowed ahead with her story. "He started using the club to conduct his business. Sometimes up in front, sometimes in the back office or VIP rooms. Then he started having private parties."

All the color leached from Logan's face and he shook his head. "You don't need to tell me anymore."

The warmer shut off and Veronica plucked the bottle from its warm water bath. She couldn't wait to feed the baby; Bay was already fidgeting in her seat and gnawing on her hand. Veronica scooped her up, sat at the table and got as comfortable as she could in the hard chair.

As soon as she realized it was a bottle, the baby clamped her mouth shut and started rooting around for the breast. "Come on, Bay." She gently tapped the nipple against Bailey's lips until she opened her mouth and started to drink. She leveled Veronica with a baleful stare.

Pam was watching them and her earlier tears returned in earnest. "Last week Sam had a party. It was him and two of his associates, plus three guys I've never seen before. I was there along with four other dancers." She dragged her eyes away from Veronica and the baby and took a large gulp of her coffee.

"It was a drug buy; I think Sam was looking for a new supplier so it was a small deal- five kilos at twenty grand a piece."

 _One hundred thousand dollars cash and one hundred thousand dollars worth of coke- two hundred grand total_. "Did you steal it?"

"Veronica," he barked.

Logan's angry tone made Bailey start to whimper. "Ssh, it's okay Rabbit." She bounced the baby and gently started to rock. "I wasn't accusing her; I was _asking_."

"Maybe you should go feed—"

Veronica cut him off. "I'm not leaving."

Pam's gaze swung between them. "I didn't steal it."

"I know you didn't," Logan reassured her. "But they think you did."

"Boy genius strikes again." This time it was said without any humor. "Both the coke and the money went missing and they think one of us has it." She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. "It's bad, Logan."

She dropped her hands. "They're at the club all the time now; watching us- threatening us. One of the dancers… Karen, she called me, said they came to her house. She was whimpering and talking to herself. They… they _terrorized_ her." Tiny beads of sweat popped out over Pam's upper lip. "She hasn't been at the club and she's not in her apartment. I tried calling her, but her cell phone's disconnected."

"It'll be okay, Pam; you'll give them the money and you'll be fine."

Veronica was shaking her head. "It won't work."

"Aren't you just Little Mary Sunshine today?"

"And you're the King of Wishful Thinking- they're not just going to leave her alone because you ask nicely. They think she _stole_ from them and if she gives them the cash it's as good as _confessing_."

She could see the exact moment the truth of her words hit him by the expression on his face. "Take the money and use it to disappear."

"I can't." Pam slumped in her chair. "If it was just me- maybe, but… I have a son, Logan. They're threatening to hurt my son."


	2. Same Old Song

CHAPTER TWO

"A son?"

The word _son_ coming from Logan caused Veronica's chest to compress and made it impossible to breathe. There was a loud rushing in her ears, but it wasn't enough to drown out the _no, no, no_ reverberating around her brain. Her hands shook dislodging the bottle from Bailey's mouth and the baby started to mewl. _I understand, Rabbit; Mommy wants to cry too_. Veronica popped the bottle back in Bay's mouth and gently rocked, whether to comfort the baby or herself, she wasn't sure.

"His name's Tyler." Pam was no longer slouching in her chair. Her eyes were bright and her features animated as she rushed to tell Logan about her child. "He's _amazing_. I didn't realize I could love someone so much" —she smiled— "But I'm preaching to the choir, right? You already know how that feels." Pam waved toward Bailey.

Veronica found her voice. "How old is he?"

Pam didn't seem to notice the tremble in her voice, but Logan did. He reached across the table to touch her shoulder and Veronica flinched. Concern filled his eyes and tugged the corners of his mouth into a frown.

"He just turned five. I put him in this great preschool at…"

Pam was still talking, but Veronica was no longer listening; she was too busy trying to do the math in her head and compare the dates to Logan's journal entries. He'd slept with Pam off and on through the years only stopping once he started to date Carrie –five years ago. _It was possible_. The tension in her body transmitted itself to the baby and Bailey started to bawl.

 _Run_. "This isn't working." Veronica slammed the bottle on the table. "I'm going to have to nurse." Standing, she whisked Bailey from the kitchen and hustled down the hall to the sound of Logan calling her name. She locked herself in their bedroom.

Unbuttoning her shirt as she crossed the room, she undid the clasp on the nursing bra and tried to get Bailey to latch. Instead of subsiding, her cries were growing louder and her scrunched face was an angry red. "Ssh, it's okay, it's okay."

The doorknob started to turn. "Veronica." _Twist, twist, twist_. "Veronica, open the door."

 _The crying is going to wake Wyatt_. Abandoning the bedroom, she ducked into the bathroom and kicked the door closed behind her. She turned on the water in the sink, wet one of the baby washcloths and gently stroked it across Bailey's face. Veronica cuddled her close and started to sing the same lullaby she used with Wy when she was a baby. " _Tura lura lura, Tura lura li, Tura lura, lura, hush now don't you cry._ "

Sitting on the toilet lid, she continued to sing and rock as Bailey's cries diminished; moving from deafening wail to loud squall and finally to pathetic bleats. Her little lips quivered as she sucked in gulps of air. "I'm sorry, Rabbit." Veronica wiped Bay's face and readjusted her position so the baby could nurse. _One crisis over_. She stood, turned off the water, and returned to the bedroom only to come face to face with Logan.

"How did you—"

"Key." He slapped the metal key onto the dresser. In her haste she'd forgotten that all the doors in the house had keys hidden on top of their frames just in case Wyatt ever accidentally locked herself in a room.

Walking past him, she crossed the room and settled into the overstuffed, club chair Logan had purchased for her. It was a comfort rocker with a matching ottoman and it was designed for nursing moms. His constant thoughtfulness made her want to cry and she screwed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"He's not mine." Logan sat on the ottoman and lifted her legs onto his lap.

"How do you know?"

"Pam told me."

Her eyes snapped open. "Oh, Pam _told_ you; I feel so much better now." Pulling her legs off his lap, she put her feet on the floor. "Did you even consider that maybe she's _lying_ to you?"

"I trust Pam."

And he had good reason to, but it didn't mean that _Veronica_ had to trust her. She frowned. There was a flaw in her logic that she didn't want to examine too closely so she pushed it away. "The last time I helped someone you trusted, it didn't end well."

At her churlish comment, his brows knit in confusion. "Trina wasn't guilt—" He stopped speaking as realization dawned. Standing, he moved away from the chair and her. "But you're not talking about my sister are you? God, Veronica" —he dragged a hand through his hair— "I can't believe you're bringing up _Mercer_." Logan smirked. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised though – you're acting just like her."

It was Veronica's turn to be confused. "Her?"

"Old Veronica – _Hearst_ Veronica."

She blanched. "That's not—"

"Fair? Is that what you were going to say? Well, tell me how this is _fair_? The way you're acting." He stalked toward the door. "The only reason you know about my relationship with Pam is because I let you read my journal so in essence I confessed something and you're judging me for it – just like old times."

"I'm not judging you, I'm—"

"Semantics," he interrupted, dismissing her objection with a wave of his arm. "Not judging, but you _are_ holding it against me." Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to her. "And for the record, I didn't ask _you_ to help."

He yanked open the door, hard enough to make it bounce against the wall, and stalked from the room.

Veronica wanted to call him back, to apologize, but she didn't. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either. This wasn't her judging or holding something against him. This was… _different, dammit_. Bringing up Mercer probably wasn't the best way to get her point across, but Logan was being less than understanding.

She glanced at Bailey. Sleepy and relaxed, she'd stopped suckling and her hands were no longer clenched in tiny fists. Veronica started humming, gently rocking the baby, and stroking her hair.

 _He's not mine._ She frowned. Did Pam correctly guess the reason for Veronica's hasty retreat from the kitchen and volunteer the information? Or, worried that Tyler might be his son, did Logan ask? She didn't know why it made a difference to her, but it did and she also knew it wasn't enough. Pam _telling_ Logan Tyler wasn't his didn't prove anything.

 _But if she was going to lie why not say he_ was _Logan's?_ He would be more apt to help her if it was _his_ child being threatened. Pam could've started with that news and the money would've been guaranteed. Instead she told him the story and withheld the information about Tyler's existence. _Why?_ Veronica shook her head.

She didn't trust Pam, but she owed her. Without Pam's intervention, Logan wouldn't be here. There would be no Wyatt, no Bailey. It wasn't just Logan's life Pam saved, it was _this_ life.

Carrying the baby into the nursery, she put her in the crib, and double-checked the monitor. She lingered, leaning over the rails to watch Bailey sleep. Even if she didn't help Pam, there was no way she'd let her leave the house and their lives without knowing for sure the identity of Tyler's father.

After a quick stop at Wyatt's bedroom door to check on the sleeping toddler, Veronica returned to the kitchen. Pam was still at the table nursing her coffee and Logan was on the phone. The moment he saw her, he turned away and crossed the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. "In cash," he said to the person on the phone and Veronica sighed.

She joined Pam at the table. "Tell me about this party. There was Sam and his two goons?" Pam nodded. "And the three guys you'd never seen before- they were the ones selling the coke?"

Instead of answering, she put down her mug and leveled Veronica with an assessing look. "You don't want Logan to give me the money, do you?"

"I don't care about the money." Veronica shrugged. "It's just not going to solve your problem."

"Logan thinks we can find a way to return it without them knowing where it came from."

 _Of course he does_. Veronica pressed two fingers against her eyebrow to stop the twitching. "Was the rest of the club empty during this party?"

She shook her head. "The club operates on the first floor —it used to be some fancy estate— and the bedrooms on the second floor are the private VIP rooms."

"As in, more than one?"

"There are four; we were in the largest."

"What about the other three, were they occupied?"

Another head shake from Pam. "The entire second floor was off-limits."

So business as usual on the first floor, but no uninvited guests upstairs- only the six shady guys and the five dancers, including Pam. "How many—"

"The money will be here tomorrow morning." Logan sat heavily in the same chair he'd occupied earlier —the one close to Pam— his body turned away from Veronica. "I still don't like the idea of you and Tyler being alone."

This must be the continuation of the conversation they were having while she was feeding Bailey. Veronica wasn't surprised at Logan's concern, but hearing the easy way he said Tyler's name, pricked at an already tender spot.

"I think the two of you should stay—"

"With Dick," Veronica interrupted, glaring at her husband. "You could move into his beach house, at least temporarily. The neighborhood's patrolled by private security, he's got a great alarm system, and you wouldn't be alone."

"Same beach house?" Pam's question was directed at Logan.

 _Riight._ According to his journal, Pam spent a lot of time on the beach with him and Dick in the weeks before Logan left Neptune. Veronica watched Logan, waiting for the answer. _Was it the same beach house? The place where we conceived Wyatt_.

"No" —he fixed Veronica with a hard stare— "But it's just as small."

She dismissed his claim with a casual, "Plenty of room." Shifting in her chair, she peered into Pam's mug. "More coffee?"

"No… thanks. I think I'm wired enough as it is." She gave the empty cup a forlorn look and then said, "Veronica's right, Logan, giving them the money won't fix things and neither will staying with Dick. I think I should just go."

If he was angry before, now he was downright pissed. The muscle in his jaw was ticking so loudly the inevitable explosion was going to be a showstopper. He turned an accusing eye on Veronica. "What did you do?"

"Stated the obvious." Her usually bright husband was being purposely obtuse. "But I didn't say _we_ weren't going to help." Veronica was done with his misguided notion that he was doing this alone. She was going to help him and Pam whether he liked it or not. "Where was Joey— that's his name, right? The guy who got you involved in this mess in the first place?"

Pam nodded. "Joey Bianchi."

"Where was he during this drug buy?"

She frowned. "Downstairs I think. He's a permanent fixture at the club." Her lips thinned. "Not so much to run things, but for the girls."

 _There's a story there_. Veronica earmarked it for another time and place. Preferably a time and place without Logan present. He was too close to the edge of doing something Logan- _ish_ —read: dangerous— and one more man-behaving-badly story would push him over the line.

"How does he get along with Sam? Are they friends?"

"Not friends." Pam's answer was automatic and decisive. "Whenever Sam's around, Joey suddenly has something to do in the office." She paused, considering, and then continued. "He acts like they're friends though, but there's this undercurrent… to be honest, I think Sam scares the shit out of him."

"When you get your stuff to move to Dick's, I'd like to see your business agreement. The paperwork you signed when you became partners with Joey."

Logan's leg stopped bouncing under the table and he grew still. "What are you thinking?"

"That Joey didn't want a partner- he wanted a patsy."

If Joey owned Shenanigans first and Sam muscled his way into the business, Joey would be stuck- his legitimate business now acting as a front for… well _, shenanigans_. "You said your dancer… Karen?" Pam's nod confirmed the name. "That she hasn't come back to the club and has disappeared?"

"She didn't take the money, Veronica. She's just a kid." Pam's shoulders slumped and her eyes dimmed. "They probably thought she'd be easy to break because she's young."

"If she's not coming back to work, that means you're short a stripper, right?" She had a vague feeling that she'd asked herself this very question — _how naked are you willing to get for a case_ — once or twice before.

Logan was already shaking his head, knowing exactly where she was going with her questions. Her smile was glib. _You're not the boss of me_.

Pam's gaze swung to Logan and then back to Veronica, eyebrows high on her forehead in surprise. "You want to dance at the club?"

Veronica nodded. "It's the best way for me to meet all the players and find the missing money. Will the" —she waved a hand over her shirt— "lactating be a problem?"

She cocked her head, lips twisting in a jaded smirk. "No, in fact there are some guys who will pay extra for you—"

Logan sliced his hand through the air, preventing Pam from finishing. "Let me get this straight, your _plan_ is to go undercover as a _stripper_ in a club run by the _mob_?"

"I have all the necessary equipment." She plucked at her collar, pulling it from her skin, and peered down the front of her shirt while Logan grew apoplectic. Pushing him further, she said: "And I can dance." Veronica clapped her hands together. "Plus I won't have to pay stage fees or share my tips."

A deep angry flush spread up the nape of his neck, making Veronica almost regret using her pep-squad perky voice – _almost_.

"Daddy! Potty!" Tiny bare feet thudded against the hardwood. Wyatt was done with diapers and the baby gate across her door, but she refused to go into the bathroom alone. Middle of the day or middle of the night, it didn't matter, she wanted company for wiping and hand washing and Logan was usually her first choice. "Daddeee!"

He slowly got up from his chair, giving himself a minute to cool down before going to help their daughter. Veronica would have volunteered to go instead, but that would only result in a Wyatt mini-meltdown.

Wyatt was doing okay with the events of last spring —she wasn't afraid of the pool and her bad dreams were few— but anytime something unnerved her, like going to the bathroom alone, she wanted Daddy by her side. Even though he didn't specialize in children, Logan had taken Wyatt for a few sessions with Dr. Feelgood just to make sure she was coping. His pronouncement that she was a well-adjusted, intelligent, and happy child only made Logan quip, _'are you sure she's ours?'_

With a slight hesitation and a backward glance at the tableau of his wife and ex sitting at the kitchen table, Logan left the room. "I'm coming Jellybean."

"Where Wabbit?"

Veronica smiled at the question. Wyatt was enamored with her baby sister, always needing to know where she was so she could bestow tiny nose kisses and provide her with endless chatter.

She turned to Pam. "Where's Ty" —Veronica changed the question— "Where's your son now?"

"At the motel with my friend Reina." She looked at the oversized wall clock hanging next to the window. "I really should get back soon."

Veronica nodded in agreement. "Logan can have Dick help you move." Focusing on the table, she swept up imaginary crumbs. Keeping her tone casual, she asked: "So why preschool and not kindergarten?"

"You know, maybe I will take another cup of coffee." Pam edged her cup closer to Veronica. "Do you mind?"

By way of an answer, Veronica stood with the cup and crossed to the machine to brew more coffee – a cup of regular for Pam and decaf for herself. While the Keurig did its thing, she did hers, leaning against the counter and readying her next question. "What made you decide to move to California?"

"I like it here."

It wasn't that she was expecting Pam to suddenly confess — _I moved here so Tyler could be closer to Logan_ — but she was being cagey and it was setting off alarm bells in Veronica's head. _Bells? More like sirens_. "Was Tyler born here?"

"No."

 _Vegas it is then_. Veronica carried the mugs back to the table. "When can I start dancing at the club?"

Pam blinked; the change of topic momentarily threw her. To cover, she picked up her coffee and took a sip. "You're going to need a song and a routine."

"I'll rent Striptease," Veronica murmured into her cup.

The other woman frowned. "Most of the women working at the club have been dancing for years. You're going to have to be _good_ and… you'll need to audition for Joey." She leaned back in the chair. "If you're really serious about doing this, I can help you."

"Cookies!" Wyatt raced into the kitchen shouting the word like it was a war cry. Spotting Pam, she came to a sudden halt and craned her neck to look for Logan. Only a few steps behind her, he appeared before Wyatt decided to flee.

Another lasting effect from her encounter with Gina – strangers, especially women, made Wyatt uneasy. She wrapped an arm around Logan's leg and rested her head on his thigh. His presence made her bold enough to ask, "Who you?"

"This is Daddy's friend Pam," Veronica supplied.

Her face scrunched while she considered the information and then she tilted her head back to look at Logan as if for confirmation. He scooped her up, carrying her closer. "Pam this is Wyatt."

Pam's lips twitched in amusement. "Hi Wyatt," she said, standing so they were at eye-level. "It's nice to meet you."

Wyatt stared at her for a beat and then started squirming to get down. Logan put her on the floor and she made a beeline for Veronica, scrambling onto her lap. Now at a safe distance, she gave Pam a tentative smile, and a backward wave.

Pam returned the wave and then bumped shoulders with Logan. "Only you would name your daughter, Wyatt." She laughed. "Is her middle name Freedom?"

Logan grinned. "Sadly, no, but maybe for the next one."

"I'm surprised Bailey wasn't Billy."

"This close," he answered, holding his thumb and forefinger a breath apart.

Pam's smile widened and she tossed her arms around him in an impulsive hug. "You're such a jack—" She bit off the end of the word with a quick glance at Wyatt. "I won't say it, but know that you are one."

"Aw, I missed you too." Logan draped an arm across her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

The more time they spent together, the more relaxed and comfortable they seemed to be in each other's company. _Give it another hour and she'll be sitting in his lap, whispering in his ear_. Veronica abruptly stood, scratching her chair against the floor. "Do you want to have your milk and cookies at your table, sweet pea?"

"Cookies!" Wyatt clapped her hands together.

Putting her on the floor, Veronica turned toward the pantry. "Go on inside and I'll bring them to you."

She started skipping for the living room, stopped to look at Pam, and offered her a quick —"Bye-bye" — before continuing inside without waiting for a response.

"She's beautiful." Pam elbowed his side. "What's that saying? Daughters are God's revenge on fathers for the kind of men they were when they were young?"

Logan shook his head. "Well then I'm fucked."

"Probably," she agreed with a grin and then her expression sobered and she glanced at the clock again. "I really need to get back to Tyler. Do you need to call Dick and ask him if it's okay?"

"I'll call him from the car."

Veronica whirled around, milk sloshing from the uncapped sippy cup. "Car? Where are you going?"

"To help Pam move and meet Tyler."


	3. Hey, Jealousy

CHAPTER THREE

Logan hadn't even given her a chance to argue. He'd grabbed his keys off the counter, strolled into the living room to kiss Wyatt goodbye, and sailed out the front door with Pam. To her credit, Pam had seemed unhappy with his icy attitude, frowning at him and glancing at Veronica in silent apology. On their way from the house, as a conciliatory gesture, Pam had offered to come by tomorrow to work on a dance routine.

Too focused on being mad at Logan, Veronica had given her an absent-minded nod. _Six hours ago_. The steady ticking of the hall clock marked each minute of those hours; a metronome keeping time with the increasing tempo of her anger.

She'd carried on with their Sunday plans —board games in a tent fort, making pizza for dinner, and movie time in the big bed— but Wyatt kept asking, _'where Daddy?'_ and Bailey was extra fussy, refusing the bottle and wanting to be held. It made bath time impossible for Wyatt and a shower for Mommy out of the question. Two kids was _not_ double the work- it was triple, squared by infinity, especially with no help. _I miss sleep and sex and bathing_.

Veronica slumped against the headboard and closed her eyes. Wyatt was snuggled against her side, trying to stay awake for her one millionth viewing of _Finding Nemo_ and –if the soft snoring was any indication– failing.

Sighing, Veronica gingerly extracted herself from the bed. While Wyatt was sleeping and Bailey was content, there were things she needed to do. Leaving the bedroom door open, she crossed the house to her office. "Okay Rabbit, Mommy has work to do." She transferred the baby to her cradle swing, turned it on, and started the mobile.

Veronica picked up the phone and called Mac who answered on the second ring. "Am I interrupting any extra-curricular activities?"

"Not at the present moment… or at any moment in recent memory."

"How fast do you think you could access birth records for the state of Nevada?" Veronica tapped the mouse, waking up her computer, and Googled: vital records Las Vegas. "The office of vital records is in Carson City."

"Is this a hypothetical how fast or—"

"I need a birth certificate."

There was a long pause. "This must be pretty important to interrupt Echolls family time… it is Sunday, right?"

Sundays were sacrosanct. With Logan's new job and her crazy hours, this was their rule. At least it _had_ been the rule until the leggy redhead arrived.

Veronica's continued silence resulted in a sigh from Mac- one of the long-suffering kind."Okay Veronica, who am I looking for?"

"Tyler—" He wouldn't have Logan's last name. Logan wouldn't even _be_ on the birth certificate, not having signed a paternity declaration, but that didn't mean Tyler's last name was the same as Pam's. Veronica shrugged, she had to start somewhere. "Mitchell, Tyler Mitchell; mother Pam… Pamela Mitchell."

The sound of tapping keys traveled through the phone. "Date of birth?"

"I don't have one, but it was five years ago." _Not kindergarten, but preschool_. Unless he was redshirted, his birthday probably missed the September first cutoff. "Try birthdays in September and October."

"Anything else?"

"I also need all the information you can find on Shenanigans." Veronica pulled up the strip club's website and gave Mac the address. "They're marketing themselves as an upscale gentlemen's club."

"Is this a new paternity case?"

Veronica hesitated. "It's complicated." _That's an understatement_. "I've got something to do in the morning, but I'll be in by lunch- is that enough time?"

"For mere mortals maybe, I'll have this done before I finish my morning latte."

"Thanks, Mac."

"Veronica, are you okay? You seem…"

"Just distracted. I've still got a few calls to make. I'll see you tomorrow." She disconnected the call before Mac could make further inquiries as to her mental state. Because, right now, her mental state was precarious.

What she wanted was to focus on the case —finding who stole the cash and drugs, keeping Pam and Tyler safe— but her mind kept straying to the personal. _If he is Logan's son, how will it change things?_ Logan would never walk away from his child. Not that she'd want him to. A man who would abandon his own kid was not the man she knew and loved.

Tyler would be a permanent part of their lives. She glanced at the baby. Wyatt and Bailey would have a brother and Logan would have a son. The three people she loved most in this world would be related to a little boy who was no part of Veronica.

Logan would share a child with another woman. He would make decisions _with Pam_ about their son and Veronica would be on the outside. Family trips, holidays, future plans would all need to include this other family. Logan's heart would be split between two homes.

Pushing aside the troubling thoughts, she grabbed a notebook and a pen. _Concentrate on the case, Veronica_. She wrote the names Joey Bianchi and Sam Carlucci on the page and then stared at the rest of the blank sheet. _I should've had Mac do background checks on them_.

Actually, there were a lot of things she _should_ have done and didn't. She hadn't gotten the names of Sam's two henchmen. She didn't get the names of the other dancers. No last name for Karen or if Pam knew her current whereabouts. Even Veronica's plan of dancing at the club was only half-formed.

So what if she found the stolen money and drugs? What then? Turning the guilty party over to Sam might save Pam _this time_ , but it didn't get her out from under his thumb. And Veronica didn't have to guess what would happen to the actual thief when she outed him. _I'll take 'accessory to murder' for a thousand, Alex_.

She tossed the pen down and picked up the phone. Unlike Mac's phone number, she didn't have this one memorized. She flipped to the M section of her rolodex, located McCormack, and dialed.

"You haven't been arrested since my caller ID says you're home so… what did Logan _allegedly_ do this time?"

"He's still walking the straight and narrow."

"Too bad, I'm in the market for a new car," he drawled. "And my retirement fund is running low."

"You're never going to retire."

"Not if my best paying client refuses to break the law. Are you sure I can't interest him in a little B&E? Or maybe some petty vandalism?"

"You know, Cliffy, I think the penal code frowns on encouraging others to commit crimes. The words 'criminally complicit' ring any bells?"

"Oh you and your fancy law degree." There was a bit of pride beneath his gentle mocking tone, which made Veronica smile. "Well, since it's not my _Criminal Law for Dummies_ education you're interested in- how can Uncle Cliffy help you?"

"Have any idea where Loretta Cancun is these days?"

"Retired. They certainly don't tell you on career day that exotic dancers make more money than lawyers."

"Is she still in the area?"

"In a house on the beach." There was some shuffling of papers. "I know, I know you want her address. Hold on."

While he was looking for the address, Veronica leaned over and turned off the cradle swing. The motion was good for soothing Bailey, but once she was asleep, the same motion could just as easily wake her. The baby took the description _light sleeper_ to entirely new levels.

Cliff returned to the phone and Veronica copied down the address he gave. It wasn't on the 09er section of beach, but still a nice area. "Guess they make more than private investigators too," she muttered before thanking him and ending the call.

Pam could help her look like an experienced stripper, but she wouldn't be able to explain how Veronica got that experience. If she was going undercover in a club partially owned by the mob, her background story needed to be flawless.

Thanks to the gentrification of the neighborhood, The Seventh Veil had been out of business for years. It was the perfect place for Veronica to use as previous employment, especially with a personal reference from Loretta Cancun.

Using the address Cliff gave her, Veronica did a reverse directory search, and located Loretta's phone number. She'd call her tomorrow and explain what she needed, but first there were blanket forts to disassemble and the dishes weren't going to do themselves. _Unfortunately_.

Moving Bailey required more skill and steadier hands than bomb defusing. This was usually Logan's job, transferring their daughter from wherever she finally fell asleep –car seat, cradle swing, the top of the washing machine- to the comfort of her bassinet. _Desperate times, desperate measures_.

She maneuvered her from the swing and held her steady, waiting for the explosion. When Bailey remained quiet, Veronica tiptoed down the hall, and carefully placed her in the co-sleeper. Wyatt was sprawled across Logan's side of the bed, his pillows on the floor, and the blankets a tangled mess. Veronica covered her with the sheet and kissed her forehead.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, she debated – dishes or forts. She decided the fort was the easier of the two and left the dishes for Logan. Pulling down the blankets, she tossed them on the couch and then carried the chairs back into the dining room.

The sound of the key in the front door was followed by the quiet beeping of the alarm pad as Logan entered the code. Veronica tossed the pillows back on the couch and picked up a blanket, refusing to look in his direction. "Oh so you do remember where you live."

"Do I? Still live here, I mean." He lounged in the doorway. "I expected my stuff to be on the front lawn."

"The night is still young." She snapped the blanket and folded it in half. "Were you with Pam this entire time?"

Logan pushed off the wall and moved deeper into the room. "Are we about to replay all our greatest hits? A Matter of Trust; Hey, Jealousy—"

"Runaway," Veronica interrupted. "Oh wait, that's usually me, right? Guess you stole my part."

Logan shrugged. "You're the one who wanted Pam to stay with Dick."

"That's right because _I'm_ the one who's thinking about the safety of _our_ children." Logan blanched at the implied accusation. "And I'm not jealous," she muttered.

His attempt to reduce this to mere jealousy irritated her and her indignation rose with the lift of his skeptical eyebrow. "You do this" —she threw the blanket at his stupid, smug face— "I'm going to shower and go to bed."

Clenching her fists at her side, she turned on her heel, and stormed from the room. Not wanting to wake the girls, she grabbed clean clothes from the laundry room, and escaped to the quiet of the hall bath. It wasn't exactly their luxury steam shower with massaging jets, but it was hot and she was alone.

Veronica pressed her forehead against the tile wall. _If you're going to lie, at least don't lie to yourself_. She _was_ jealous. Not over Pam or their past relationship. Veronica wasn't insecure. She knew that Logan loved her and their life together. Pam wasn't a threat.

She was jealous at the idea of having to share him with Pam and Tyler. Of being excluded from a very important part of his life. Jealous that her role as the mother of his children wouldn't be solely hers anymore.

Turning off the water, she pulled a towel from the rod, and wrapped it around herself before stepping out of the tub. Logan was sitting on the closed toilet lid, waiting for her. "A locked door is not an invitation to enter," she snapped.

"We need to talk about this."

"Yeah, maybe eight hours ago, but now? Not so much." Veronica stared him down, willing him to leave, but he didn't budge. _Stubborn jackass_. She dried off and pulled on a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt.

He watched her; his somber gaze steady and unblinking. Weariness pulled at the corners of his mouth and weighed down his shoulders. His entire body seemed to be saying, _I can't believe we're back to this place in our relationship_.

Veronica softened. "You need to call Pam and tell her not to bring Tyler to school tomorrow." Jealous or not, Logan's son or not, he was still a child and the school wasn't safe.

Nodding, he said, "I told her to keep him home for a few days."

 _See, they're already making decisions together_. For something to do, she picked up a brush and yanked it through her wet hair. Logan came up behind her. His fingers closed over the brush, taking it from her hand and starting to comb, gently removing the tangles. "Are you really going to dance at Shenanigans?"

Tilting her head, Veronica watched him in the mirror. "Why? Think I lack the _assets_ to be a successful stripper?"

He went completely still, sensing possible danger, then he crooked his finger in her collar, pulling it forward and leering down her shirt. "I love your assets, but they are intended for private home viewing only. Any public performance is strictly prohibited and may constitute a felony."

"You think you're cute, don't you?" She leaned against him and he slipped his arms around her waist.

"Mmm-hmm, and you do too."

"Maybe" —she turned to face him— "but I'm still mad."

"I know." Logan kissed her nose. "So am I, but I don't want to fight with you anymore tonight. Can we just ring the bell and commence round two in the morning?"

"Then we should stop talking."

"And do?" He put his hands together in prayer. "Please say each other."

"You're not that lucky." Veronica shoved his shoulder. "Besides the girls are in our room."

"I seem to recall us really liking sink counters." He patted the marble and waggled his eyebrows.

"You're not that cute," she grumbled.

"Oh, but I am." Effortlessly, he lifted her onto the counter and settled himself between her thighs. His kiss was rough and Veronica responded in kind, biting at his bottom lip and digging her nails into his arms. Logan growled into her mouth, pressing into her and spreading her legs wider.

Veronica clutched at his hair and jerked his head back. "I'm still" —she pulled him down for a hard, fast kiss— "mad." She slithered off the counter, ducked beneath his arm, and scooted away. "And you're delusional."

A cocky grin. "Bedroom it is then." He stalked her across the room. "It's time for Bailey to start liking her crib in her own room."

Holding up a hand to halt his progress, Veronica shook her head. "Not tonight. I want them in the room with us."

Her worry instantly doused his attempt at playful seduction. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"No, it's just…" She shrugged. It wasn't something she could easily explain to him.

Despite appearances to the contrary, she wasn't exactly unscathed by Gina's attempt to drown Wyatt. It wasn't the shooting. Veronica had no regrets about killing Gina. Given the same set of circumstances —someone threatening the lives of her family— Veronica would pull the trigger again and not think twice. It was the feeling that she'd invited that danger into their home that she couldn't shake.

Opening the door for Pam had left her with the same disquiet.

"Did you make sure you weren't followed from the motel to Dick's house?"

Logan nodded. "We went to the restaurant first, left through the kitchen, and switched to Dick's car." He cradled her hips between his palms. "I was very careful."

"And you told Pam to vary her routes and to not go straight home at the end of her shift?" There wasn't much they could do about Pam's safety. She still needed to go to the club where anything could happen to her, but they could keep Tyler safe.

"I did. I also told her that, if she thought she was being followed, to stop at the Sheriff's Department and see Norris."

"That's good," she murmured, laying her head on his chest. She fell silent, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart, and then she said, "I shouldn't have brought up Mercer."

"No," he agreed. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he held her tighter, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character now than when I was nineteen."

He was, but he was still fiercely loyal and not everyone deserved his faith. Veronica kept that thought to herself. They were playing a game of verbal Jenga and one wrong word would topple their temporary truce. "So what's Tyler like?"

 _Does he look like you? Does he have your sarcastic smirk and warm brown eyes?_

Eyes that were now wary and cautious as he let his arms fall from her waist and took a step back. He studied her face, trying to determine if this was a trap. Finally, he shrugged. "He likes dinosaurs, thought our entire adventure was cool, and seemed super impressed that I could fly a plane."

She looked away. _Tyler was probably not the best subject to choose_.

"He's not mine, Veronica."

"Oh? Did you stop and get a paternity test in between the restaurant and Dick's house? Is that why you were gone all day?" _Wrong block_. Regretfully, Veronica watched the metaphorical wood tower collapse.

Frustrated, Logan dragged a hand through his hair. "Are we doing this again?"

"Yes and we're going to keep doing it until I have a little thing I like to call _proof_."

He started to pace. The bathroom was too small for his restlessness, like the tiny lion cages at the circus. "If the baby was mine, Pam would've told me she was pregnant."

"Maybe that's why she went to see you in Chicago —to tell you about Tyler— but then you were with Carrie and she didn't want to ruin your relationship."

Stopping mid-stride, he spun around to face her. "Then why would she lie to me now?"

"Uh, hello – you and me, married? Did you think that maybe she doesn't want to cause problems for us and our family?"

"Too late," he muttered. Logan took a deep, calming breath. "Pam wouldn't lie to me; I trust her."

 _Everybody lies_. "Well, I don't," she said flatly.

"And what about me, Veronica- do you trust me?"

"You shouldn't even have to ask me that."

"No, I shouldn't and yet, here I am, questioning whether my _wife_ trusts me."

Logan doubting her trust in him stung. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away. "Fuck you." She wrenched open the door and his arm shot out to push it closed. He leaned his weight on his palm, keeping the door shut and trapping her in the bathroom.

"You know, I get why I'm angry, but what exactly has you so pissed?"

A deafening wail from Bailey kept Veronica from having to answer. The volume of her cries meant she'd been startled from her sleep. _Probably the slamming door_. Veronica glared at Logan's hand as he let it fall to the knob, opening the door and rushing for their room. He reached Bailey first, scooping her up and whisking her out of the bedroom before she could completely wake Wyatt.

Veronica leaned in the doorway, waiting to make sure. Wyatt stopped rubbing her eyes, puffed out her cheeks and loudly exhaled, but she didn't say anything. Veronica gave it another minute, watching until Wyatt was still and her breathing deep and even. She closed the door and followed Logan into the kitchen.

Bailey was cradled against his chest. His rocking and bouncing were having little effect on her inconsolable mewling. She kicked her legs, fidgeting in his arms. "Let me," Veronica said as she lifted the baby from his arms. "She's been fussy all day."

She placed Bailey stomach-down along her forearm, cradling the baby's cheek in her palm and bounced her up and down while patting her back.

"Do you want me to make her a bottle?"

Veronica shook her head. "She won't take it. When she calms down, I'll try nursing, and hopefully she'll fall asleep." Carrying the baby into the living room, she sat in the rocking chair, and closed her eyes.

 _But what exactly has you so pissed?_

She was angry that Tyler's paternity was occupying all her thoughts. Mad that Logan was so quick to help Pam without even discussing it first. And she was thoroughly pissed that he walked out on her.

Veronica turned Bailey and snuggled her close. "I'm scared, Rabbit," she murmured against the top of the baby's head. Not just because this could be dangerous and it involved her family- _again_. But that things would change. That this life they'd worked so hard to build would be forever altered.

Logan came in holding a glass of ice water and her Boppy nursing pillow. He set the glass on the table next to her in easy reach and then picked up Bailey so Veronica could get comfortable. "Mommy said you were fussy." Contradicting the claim, the baby gurgled at him and smiled. "We've talked about this before and clearly you're not listening" —he smirked— "Just like all the other women in the house."

"You let us know when you have something useful to say and we'll pay attention," Veronica said as she held out her arms for Bailey.

He kissed Bay's nose, passed her to Veronica, and then collapsed into the chair next to them. His knee started bouncing as he picked at the upholstered piping on the arm of the chair. "I'm sorry I missed the blanket forts and pizza."

She nodded. "Was Dick okay with Pam staying there?"

"The person who taught him how to make cannabis oil in a slow cooker? He was fine with it." He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Are you worried that Pam and I will—"

"No," she cut him off. "I _do_ trust you, Logan."

At her answer, his leg bouncing ceased and his shoulders relaxed. He lowered his head to look at her. "I love you, Veronica."

"I know." She tilted Bailey's head back and helped her latch. "Did Pam say what time she'll be here tomorrow morning?"

"Nine." He frowned. "What exactly is your plan?"

Veronica shrugged, dislodging Bailey who mewled in protest. She readjusted the baby. "I'm going to find the missing cash and coke and then hope that Sam concludes his drug deal." _Or commits some other nefarious act I can have him arrested for_.

"If you're really going to work at the club, I am too." Her head whipped around to stare at him. His lips were pressed in a thin, tight line of determination. "Pam says they can use another bouncer."


	4. The Times They Are A Changin'

CHAPTER FOUR

The idea of Logan going undercover with her was unacceptable, but she was too tired to go another round with him last night. Bailey had fallen asleep and Veronica didn't want to miss her window to do the same. She'd put a pin in their discussion and went to bed, convinced she'd be able to talk him out of his new career as bouncer in the morning.

 _Never underestimate the stubbornness that is Logan Echolls._

"You're not exactly unrecognizable."

"You think anyone's going to notice me with all the—" He eyed Wyatt who was staring at him while eating her bananas and Cheerios.

Even though they were engaged in what they called 'polite fighting'—no raised voices, only even tones, and a curtailment on the sarcasm— Wyatt still knew something wasn't right between Mommy and Daddy. Her mood was subdued and her brow was scrunched with worry lines.

Logan smoothed his fingers over her tiny forehead and kissed her nose. "Can Daddy have a banana?"

She held out one of the slices for him. He ate the banana and then pretended to gobble her fingers, making her giggle.

"Wabbit too." Wyatt pointed toward her sister and Logan obliged, nibbling on Bailey's fingers and making _om nom nom_ noises like Cookie Monster.

Veronica smiled. He was always so willing to be silly and goofy with the girls. It was hard to stay mad with Daddy Logan. She crossed to his chair, rested her hand on the nape of his neck, and toyed with the edges of his hair.

His head jerked up, surprised by the affectionate moment. Leaning over, she kissed him – _a peace offering_. With her lips still pressed to his, she said, "You're going to be late for work."

Logan pulled her down onto his lap. "Called them while you were feeding Bailey, told them I'd be in this afternoon."

She arched a brow– _afraid to leave me alone with Pam?_ Logan kissed the raised brow before picking up his coffee and taking a sip. With a sigh, Veronica laid her head on his shoulder. "Did you also call Dottie and tell her not to come until later?"

"I did and I asked if she'd watch Tyler."

Veronica tensed. _He was arranging day care now? Would Tyler start calling her Nana Dot, too? Right after he started calling Logan_ —

Logan gently rubbed her arm and kissed her shoulder, pulling Veronica from her dark thoughts. "I didn't think you'd want to have your dance lessons in front of the kids."

"Me dance!" Wyatt shouted and then frowned, chewing the tip of her finger. "I dance?" She was learning her pronouns and it made Veronica a little sad, knowing that the _'me do'_ would eventually disappear.

"We can have a dance party _after_ you finish your banana," Logan said, tapping the edge of her plate.

She scooped up the three remaining pieces and shoved them in her mouth. "Cuddles dance," she said around the mouthful of fruit, spitting a bit of banana onto the table. Sliding from her chair, she raced from the room to collect her bunny.

Shaking her head, Veronica stood. "See what you started."

She picked up Wyatt's bowl of Cheerios. Most of the cereal was gone and all that remained was a small amount of milk. Veronica drank it on her way to the sink. _That counts as breakfast right? Finishing your kid's leftovers?_ She returned with a sponge and wiped the table.

The doorbell rang. Logan put down his cup, shot Veronica a warning look that clearly said _play nice_ , and went to answer the door.

"Hiya, Logan." It was the high-pitched greeting of an overly excited child.

"Hey Ty- I see somebody's ready to go swimming."

"It's your fault for mentioning the pool; it's all he could talk about last night _and_ this morning _and_ during the car ride over – _I'm gonna go swimming with Logan, he flies planes_." Pam chuckled. "Apparently, that's your full name, Logan-he-flies-planes."

Veronica wandered into the living room for the tail-end of Pam's comment. Tyler was standing between them wearing a pair of boardshorts in varying shades of blue horizontal stripes. He did look ready for the pool. _Or a day of surfing with his dad_. Veronica quashed the thought. "Good morning," she choked out the greeting.

"Ty this is my wife, Veronica."

"Hiya V'ronica." He stared up at Logan. "She's the cop, right?"

"Private investigator," Logan corrected at the same time Pam did.

"Cool." He tugged at the hem of his matching blue tee shirt. "Can we go swimming now?" His gaze moved from Logan to Pam and then back to Logan.

 _Brown hair, brown eyes_. Veronica noted the similarities, acknowledging they didn't tell her a damn thing. Brown was the second-most popular hair color in the world and over fifty percent of the population had brown eyes.

He was tall, reaching Logan's waist, but so was Pam so that didn't mean anything. Veronica tried to study him while trying to look like she was _not_ studying him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, restless and impatient. The comparison to Logan came naturally, but realistically it was just a condition of being a five-year-old boy who wanted to go swimming.

Veronica didn't know what she was expecting to find. Did she want to find something she could point to and say, _'Aha! I was right; you ARE the father'_ or was she hoping for conclusive evidence that they were unrelated.

"Dance!" Wyatt careened into the room, carrying Cuddles and her pink Fisher Price music player.

It was easy to see why it had taken her so long to join them. She'd donned a pink tutu with matching feather boa, and a plastic tiara was sliding off her head. Another boa trailed behind her —presumably for Logan— and a yellow tutu was wrapped around her stuffed bunny. _Fancy party attire_.

When she saw Pam and Tyler, she dropped everything at Logan's feet and ducked behind his legs. She wrapped her hands around his knees and peered around the side of his thigh.

Logan touched the top of her head. "Do you remember Pam from yesterday?" Her slow nod knocked the tiara the rest of the way off and it clattered to the floor. She didn't even glance at it. "This is her son Tyler; he wants to go swimming with us."

"No." Wyatt let go of Logan's legs and folded her arms across her chest, her lips puffing into a pout. _Guess I'm not the one who needed the reminder to play nice_.

"Well, you can stand there and pout, or you can come swimming, but Tyler and I are going in the pool."

Her head snapped back with a horrified expression on her face – eyes wide, forehead pinched, and her lips quivering. She slipped in front of Logan, blocking him from Tyler. " _My_ Daddy."

Holding his hands out at his sides, Logan offered Pam a slight shrug as if to say, _I have no clue_. Veronica held back an eye-roll and stepped forward. "Why don't we go out to the pool and give them a minute alone?"

"Great idea." Pam's relief was palatable. "Come on, Ty."

They followed Veronica to the French doors leading to the deck and she flung them open. "I'll be out in a sec; I just want to get Bailey."

Pam and Tyler headed outside and Veronica detoured into the kitchen to get the baby. She'd fallen asleep in her bouncer. Not wanting to risk waking her, Veronica snapped up the handle of the seat and carried the entire thing outside. She paused on the deck, glancing back in the house to check on Logan and Wyatt.

Their daughter was crying. Veronica didn't know if she was unhappy just because her plans of having a dance party were thwarted or if she didn't like the idea of sharing Logan, especially for pool time. The pool was their special daddy-daughter time.

Either way, Logan pleading cluelessness was laughable. He knew Wyatt was extra clingy when it came to him. His telling her he was going to leave her to play with some other kid _in the pool_ would definitely lead to hysterics.

Tyler was already in the water, swimming across the deep end. Pam had kicked off her shoes and rolled up her pants, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the pool. Veronica put the carrier in the shade and joined Pam. She opened her mouth to apologize for Wyatt's outburst and then changed her mind. "They shouldn't be long and then we can get going."

Pam nodded and then said, "What has Logan told you about me?"

 _Nothing_. Technically it was the truth. They didn't have discussions about Pam. She'd come up once or twice in conversation —when he was giving his reasons for leaving the Navy, deciding on the guest list for the wedding— but they'd never talked about his relationship with her. The only reason Veronica knew the details was from reading his journal.

She hedged. "I know you saved his life."

A sardonic smile flitted across Pam's face. "And he was none too happy about it either."

"Watch, Mom!" Tyler shouted from the other side of the pool.

"I'm watching," she reassured.

Tyler glanced over his shoulder to make sure he had her attention and then he hoisted himself out of the water. The wet board shorts sagged around his skinny middle. He tugged them up as he backed away from the pool. When he was far enough, he raced toward the edge and jumped. The resulting splash was enough to wake Bailey.

Logan's timing was impeccable. He bent over to lift a crying Bailey from her bouncer and laid her across his bare chest, kissing the top of her head. He'd changed into a pair of black swim trunks; a towel draped around his neck. Wyatt was wearing her navy suit with large white polka dots and frilly red skirt. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were red and there were still traces of pout on her lips.

Tyler had resurfaced and was hanging on the edge of the pool, treading water. Logan smiled at him. "Awesome jump, Ty." He passed the baby to Veronica. "Want me to show you how to do a cannonball?"

A vigorous head nod and an eager— "Yes!"— from Tyler and Logan circled the pool, preparing to demonstrate his epic cannonball skills.

"You should move," Veronica warned Pam as she herself moved a safe distance from the splash zone. "Hey sweet pea, come sit with me and watch Daddy jump."

Wyatt looked forlorn, standing alone at the side of the pool, and suddenly Veronica was angry with Logan for abandoning their daughter. Slowly, Wyatt walked over, pausing with each step to watch Logan who was squatting in front of Tyler, hand on his shoulder, explaining the secret to making a really big splash.

Turning away, Veronica focused on Wy. "You know what would look really good with that swimsuit? A boa!"

Her head tilted and she sucked the tip of her finger. Popping it from her mouth, she nodded. "An' a hat!"

Everything that went on her head was a hat- even a tiara. Veronica smiled. "Let's go make your swimsuit fancy and then we can have a dance party on the grass."

"Okay Mama." She skipped toward the house.

Not bothering to explain her retreat, Veronica followed Wyatt. She heard Logan call after them and ignored him. She knew she was undermining him by allowing their daughter to go ahead with her dance party.

 _Am I though? He's the one who promised it to her in the first place_.

It wasn't that she thought Wyatt should get her way anytime she pouted or threw a temper tantrum, but this was different. This was… Veronica didn't know what 'this' was, but she didn't like it. "Why don't you get a tutu for Rabbit so she can dance too?" She held up the baby who was wearing a white onesie with little ducks. "I'm thinking orange."

Wyatt shook her head. "Lellow," she contradicted and then raced off to her room.

Veronica located the abandoned music player, placed it on the counter, and called Dottie. She couldn't stay here all day, she had things to do —a dance session with Pam, a trip to Frederick's of Hollywood, a birth certificate to collect from Mac— and yet she was reluctant to leave Logan alone with the kids.

"Hello," Dottie answered, way too chipper for Veronica's mood.

"It's Veronica; I know Logan said we wouldn't need you until this afternoon, but do you think you could come now?" Having Dottie provide their daycare was a boon. The kids loved her and, after living with Keith for the past six months, she understood Veronica's crazy schedule. Plus she never complained about short notice.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I just… uh, Logan has his hands full." _Playing Daddy to his newly-discovered son_. She frowned. _Bitter, party of one_.

Dottie hesitated. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem—"

 _Edgy? Incensed? Hostile? Yes, yes, yes_. "I'm fine; we're about to have a dance party in the yard."

She laughed. "I told your father that music player would eventually drive you and Logan crazy. To be honest though, I think that was its selling point."

"I'll remember that when I'm shopping for his Christmas gift."

"Go easy and don't forget that I live here too."

"So what are you saying, no spitting llamas?"

"Definitely not."

Wyatt bounded into the kitchen, thrusting a handful of boas, tutus, and tiaras at her. "Here, Mama."

"I've got to go, my presence is required; I'll see you soon." Veronica hung up and sorted through the collection, outfitting Bailey with her too-large tutu and then balancing a tiara on her own head. She wrapped a white boa around her neck and then fixed Wyatt's red one so she wouldn't trip. "Are we ready to get our groove on?"

"Silly Mama," she giggled.

Veronica bobbed her head, stuck her tongue out, and played air guitar on Bailey's tummy, which made Wyatt laugh. Hearing her daughter's laughter lightened her mood. She picked up one of the extra boas. "Should we ask Daddy's friend Pam to dance party with us?"

Nodding, she snatched the purple feathers and went racing into the yard. Veronica followed at a slightly slower pace than full-tilt boogie. But by the time she reached the deck, Wyatt had already cajoled Pam into wearing the boa and joining her near the cedar playground.

Studiously avoiding looking in the direction of the pool, Veronica set the music player on the picnic table. An actual MP3 player, she'd loaded it with kid-friendly, real- _ish_ music because rockin' out to _The Wheels on the Bus_ was not a good time for Mommy. She turned to Pam. "Logan promised her a dance party; we can go as soon as Dottie gets here."

"Don't worry about it." Pam smiled. "Dancing barefoot in the grass on a sunny day sounds perfect."

It was too much chatting and not enough dancing for Wyatt. She climbed onto the bench to press play. As soon as the music began, she scrambled down and started rocking her hips. "Mama do."

Veronica broke out the mashed potato, twisting her heels in and out. The bouncing made Bailey grin. Wyatt clapped and turned to look at Pam who immediately started to mash potato. They danced around the yard, which, for Wy, involved some skipping, out-of-sync hand clapping, bouncing, and a serious attempt at doing the twist. Then Pam showed her how to do the pony and —what was bound to become her new favorite— the bunny hop.

Hopping and bopping around the yard, she paid no attention to Logan and Tyler in the pool; until her 'Daddy' song started to play and her face fell.

Whether it was hearing the song or seeing his daughter's look of disappointment, Veronica didn't know, but Logan shouted, "Hey Jellybean, wait for me." He pulled himself from the pool and then offered a hand to help Tyler out. Skipping a towel, Logan crossed the yard and swung Wyatt into the air. She squealed when he brought her back down and wrapped his wet arms around her, soaking her bathing suit.

 _Dance with me, sing with me, have a little fun with me_. He spun her around and when the song reached the lyric _splash me in the deep blue sea_ , he shook his head, flinging water droplets across her face. She tossed her head back, laughing. _We've got all day, just you and me, there's nowhere else I'd rather be_.

Pam sidled up to Veronica. "He's different."

She knew what Pam meant —that becoming a dad had changed him— but this was an opening for Veronica to learn more about the nine-years-Logan. "Oh?" She played dumb. "How so?"

The right side of Pam's mouth lifted in a bemused half-smile. "If you want to know something about Logan, just ask."

"And you'll just tell me?"

"Yes… but only because you're Veronica."

There was no time to question what she meant by that because Dottie came walking through the side gate. Logan's surprise at her appearance —raised eyebrows— turned to confusion —deep frown— and then he gave Veronica an icy stare. _Time for me to skedaddle_.

Dottie kissed Wyatt's cheek, said hello to Logan, and then made her way over to them. "Pam" —she offered her a warm smile— "It's been a long time."

"Too long," Pam agreed, hugging Dottie. "I think the last time was…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Instead of finishing the original thought, she changed the subject. "How are your sons?"

"They're good. I hear you have a son now?"

Pam nodded, turning to find him. During the dancing and conversation, he'd migrated across the yard and back to the pool. He was sitting on the stairs in the shallow end. "Tyler," Pam called, beckoning him over.

Ty ducked his head, shoulders slumping in resignation as he slowly climbed the stairs. Moving as if the air around him was made of lead, he dragged his way over to his mother with a few longing glances back toward the pool.

Pam shook her head. "Yeah, I get it- grownups are boring, but I want you to meet a friend of mine." When he was at her side, Pam put her hands on his shoulders and presented him to Dottie. "This is Tyler."

Dottie said hello and introduced herself and received a quick _hiya_ in return before Ty turned to his mother to ask, "Can I go swimming now?"

"We're all going swimming now," Logan interjected. Wyatt was perched on his shoulders, palms pressed against his cheeks with a wide smile on her face. She had her daddy back and all was right with her world.

Tyler raised his chin to look up at Logan. "Even the baby?"

"Me no baby," Wyatt protested, leaning forward to glare at him.

" _Duh_ , I meant that one." Ty pointed to Bailey.

"No, I think I'll keep this little one all to myself," Dottie said, reaching for the baby.

Veronica kissed Bay's head before handing her over. "There's milk in the fridge and hopefully" —she crossed her fingers— "she'll eat; if not, I'll feed her when I drop off Pam; we shouldn't be gone long."

Logan pivoted in her direction. "Will you be back before I leave for work?"

"Probably not," is what she said, but _definitely not_ is what she meant. She'd recognized his 'we-need-to-talk' tone and she was in no mood for that conversation —for _any_ conversation. She was all talked out, especially since it would just circle back to the same issue: _Tyler's not mine, blah, blah, blah_ and, until she heard it from LabCorp, there was no point.

Wyatt tried leaning over to give her an awkward hug goodbye, which ended in her falling off Logan's shoulders into Veronica's arms. She covered Wy's face in smooches and promised she'd be home soon. There were no goodbye kisses for Logan —a fact that both of them seemed fine with— and then she and Pam went inside.

"Are we going back to Dick's house?" Pam asked once they were in the living room.

"That works." Veronica slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. "I mean he's probably already got a stripper pole in his bedroom."

Pam laughed. "With mirrors on the ceiling."

"And a sign: objects in the mirror may appear larger than they actually are," Veronica dryly added as she grabbed her keys and headed for the front door. She set the alarm, bypassing the zone for the back doors, and made sure the front door was locked. "We'll take my car."

Veronica walked to the BMW and paused with her hand on the door. She was parked in the driveway behind Logan's _mom-van_ and Dottie's Mustang was parked in front of the house. Scanning the street, she identified which cars belonged to the neighbors and easily picked out the unfamiliar vehicle. _One of these things is not like the others; one of these things just doesn't belong_.

A Jeep Wrangler in a lime green that could compete with Logan's old Xterra for 'most obnoxious color' was parked across the street on a diagonal. "Is that your car," Veronica asked, starting toward it.

"Do you want me to drive?"

"No." Veronica circled the jeep. "How did you get it?"

"I'm guessing – at a dealership – is the wrong answer?"

Yesterday, Logan would have followed Pam to the motel to get her things and pick up Tyler so he'd have his own car to get home. When Veronica had asked him if he was careful about being followed from the motel, he said ' _we went to the restaurant first, left through the kitchen, and switched to Dick's car_.' She'd assumed they went to the restaurant in _one_ car, leaving Pam's vehicle at the motel. Dick would've driven Logan back to the restaurant to retrieve his car after Pam and Tyler were settled.

"Did you drive it to the restaurant yesterday?"

"No, we went in Logan's car. Dick brought me to the motel this morning to pick it up."

If Sam or his goons were sitting on the motel, waiting for Pam to return, they could have followed her here. _Or better still_ … Veronica dropped to her haunches near the front passenger tire and ran her fingers along the inside of the wheel well. She repeated the procedure on the other tires and found nothing.

Pam moved with her to each tire. "I wasn't followed; I did everything Logan showed me."

People unfamiliar with GPS tracking software —and way too many old cop shows— liked to stick trackers in the trunk or under the hood, but satellite signals do not pass through metal. A tracker in those locations would require wiring to an external antenna. _Fiberglass and plastic though…_

Veronica considered the car. Front and rear bumpers were a good place to hide them, unless they too were made out of metal, and these were bright silver chrome. Unfortunately, with its open roof and roll bars, there were just too many places to hide a covert tracker on the Jeep, including her personal favorite – under the dash.

"Give me your keys." Veronica held out her hand for them and Pam complied with the request, dropping them in the center of her palm.

 _Search and destroy_. But first, she needed to make sure it was safe to drive and get it away from her house. Rummaging through her bag, she located a flashlight, and then looked at Pam. "Go back in the yard and wait for me."


	5. We Can Work It Out

CHAPTER FIVE

Veronica didn't wait to see if Pam complied with her directive. Dropping to the ground, she shimmied under the jeep. She scanned the undercarriage, paying close attention to the area near the fuel tank and tailpipe. A popular tactic was to place a bomb so it would create a gas tank explosion.

Nothing appeared out of place. There were no loose wires, visible tool marks, or suspicious looking "extras." She climbed out from beneath the car and scanned the street again. No strangers idling nearby for remote detonation and there was no debris —discarded pieces of wire or metal— near the scene. She checked all the lug nuts to see if any of them had been loosened and re-examined the wheel wells. Unlocking the passenger door, she cautiously opened it, and then shined the flashlight beneath the seat. She repeated the procedure on the driver's side.

"What are you doing?"

 _Logan_. Veronica gritted her teeth. "Making sure it's safe to drive."

"Oh, are you the bomb squad now?"

"Well, if you see me running, try to keep up." She squeezed further into the footwell to examine the brake and the gas pedal. Then she directed the flashlight beam into the space under the dash. The tracker was exactly where she would have installed it. Veronica reached for it and stopped, changing her mind.

"I'm going to pop the hood." She backed out of the car and straightened. "Do you want to help me or do you just want to stand there and look pretty?"

And he _did_ look pretty. _Curse me and my stupid hormones_. He'd put a pair of faded jeans on over his swim trunks, but the button and fly remained undone. Barefoot and shirtless with his wet, mussed hair, he looked like one of those advertisements where you weren't sure of the product, but you knew you needed to have it.

His sigh irritated her, but it did nothing to cool her libido. He dragged a hand through his hair. "What do you want me to do?"

 _Go away_. "Hold your hand over the hood and make sure it doesn't bounce up too fast."

When he was in position, she pulled the release. He didn't wait for her to join him, slowly inspecting the rim for wires and then gingerly raising the hood. His eyes scanned the engine. Holding out a hand, he said, "Flashlight please."

Veronica smacked it into his open palm, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned against the side of the car with her back to him.

"Do you need a fancy dance party too or should I just let you pout?"

Her teeth started to grind. "I'm not _pouting_ ; I'm thinking."

There was no way to know when they'd placed the tracker on the car. They'd wired it into the jeep so it had an uninterrupted power supply. It could've been planted last night or right after the money went missing. If it was the latter, they now knew the jeep had been parked on this street for two days in a row. Once was easy to dismiss as a casual errand, twice could be the start of a pattern.

Without physical eyes on the car —and Veronica was pretty sure they weren't watching, but she scanned the street again to confirm— it would be impossible for them to know which house Pam was visiting. Even if they made the connection from Pam to Logan, it would take them a while to link Logan to the house.

After Gina, Logan had created a pyramid of shell companies and transferred the ownership of the house up the chain. He'd done the same with their vehicles and routed all their mail to a post office box. On paper they personally owned nothing and had no home address.

The slam of the hood reverberated through her shoulders. Logan leaned next to her and gently took the keys from her hand. "Go wait across the street while I start it." He tacked on a, "Please."

Veronica did as he asked, but when she reached the curb in front of their house, she regretted the decision. Whirling around, she started to run back to the jeep. "Logan, don't—"

The ignition turned over and the engine idled. No ticking sounds, no explosions. Turning his head, he smirked at her. "So you _do_ care."

"Jackass." She gripped the door panel to keep from touching him. "Get out, I need to move this."

Keeping his hands on the wheel, he relaxed deeper into the seat and made himself comfortable. "I'm never going to complain about you being extra cautious, but… car bombs? Isn't that a little extreme over two hundred grand?"

"Just because you can order that amount over the phone like pizza doesn't make it chump change. People have been killed for less."

His slight nod acknowledged her point. "Where do you want me to put this?"

"Oh, I know where I'd _like_ to tell you to put it, but I don't think it will fit." She circled the hood and climbed into the passenger seat. "You know that little gray house on the corner of Camino?" He nodded. "Bring it there and park it in the driveway."

The woman who owned the house passed away without a spouse or any children. It was now in the hands of the Public Administrator's office who were maintaining the property until they could locate her heirs-at-law, which meant it was vacant.

Veronica's initial instinct was to move the jeep as far away from her house as possible —Timbuktu and Outer Mongolia were her first choices— but it wouldn't explain Pam's presence in the neighborhood, which might encourage someone to go looking for a reason. Putting the car in the vacant driveway would lead them to believe this was Pam's hideout - an explanation _and_ a decoy. Plus, with a few of her own surveillance methods, Veronica would be able to watch the watchers.

"Why did you call Dottie?"

She shrugged. "You were a little preoccupied with Tyler and I needed to leave."

"And you thought I'd do what? Let the girls fend for themselves?"

 _Why is this street so long?_ "I was being considerate."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it was." He turned into the driveway and shoved the gearshift into park. "We need to fix this, Veronica; tell me what you want me to do."

 _Go back in time and not sleep with Pam_. She opened her door. "You can take the keys back to Pam." Exiting the jeep, she grabbed her bag from the floor. "I'll be there in a few minutes." Veronica slammed the door with a resounding thud.

She pushed open the gate that led from the driveway to the front lawn, waiting in vain to hear the sound of Logan leaving. _Great, now we'll have the long walk back to the house to 'talk.'_ Veronica sighed. _Concentrate on the case_.

There was something about a vacant house that looked… well, _vacant_. Balboa County's idea of 'maintaining' a house was to install a realtor lock box on the front door and forget about it. Their lax attitude worked in her favor since no one would be by to check on things, but she'd need to spruce things up if her decoy was going to work. There was nothing to be done about the lawn right now and she'd definitely need to come back with curtains, but she could get rid of the lock box.

It was a four digit combination lock. Taking a thin metal "feeler" from her bag, she slid it into the space next to the first wheel. She twisted the numbers until she found the notch and the piece of metal dipped lower, and then she moved through the rest of the number wheels doing the same. Once they were all aligned, she clicked each of the numbers up three positions and snapped open the box. Veronica pocketed the house key that was inside and undid the shackle, removing it from the door handle. She tossed it in her bag.

She'd go through the house later when Logan wasn't staring holes into the back of her head. As she walked down the front steps, he got out of the jeep, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He leaned on the side panel, waiting for her to join him, hand shoved in his front pocket.

"It felt like you were choosing Tyler over Wyatt and it made me angry," she blurted the accusation at him.

He recoiled, eyes wide and jaw slack. Then his gaze narrowed and he came back swinging. "So to prove I love our daughter I should just let her get her way every time she pouts? Is that your definition of good parenting?"

"That's not what happened and you know it."

"No, I don't _know_ it. What I saw was a little girl starting to throw a temper tantrum because she wanted—"

"A dance party that YOU promised her, but then Tyler shows up ready to swim and it's sorry, Wyatt your needs don't matter."

"Needs? When did—"

Ignoring him, Veronica continued her tirade. "Then you brought her out to the pool and abandoned her to spend time with Tyler. How do you think that made her feel? Watching you teach this other kid how to do cannonballs while excluding her?"

"Are we talking about Wyatt or you now?"

Veronica sputtered. Turning on her heel, she stalked down the drive. She didn't get far before Logan cut in front of her. _Damn him and his long legs_.

"Isn't it possible that you're projecting _your_ feelings about Tyler onto Wyatt?"

"Don't psychoanalyze me," she snapped.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and loudly exhaled. When he regained his composure, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and ducked down so they were eye level. "Wyatt and Bailey and _you_ are my entire world, Veronica. Nothing will ever be more important to me than the three of you."

"I know you love us, Logan, but I also know Wyatt and she was _hurt_."

Letting his hands fall from her shoulders, he stared at her with wounded eyes. Logan would rather cut off his own arm than do something to intentionally hurt their daughters. His kicked puppy expression almost made her regret saying anything.

"We should get back." He turned away and started for home.

Veronica rushed to catch up with him, grabbing his wrist to make him stop. "Logan, I'm…" He waited expectantly for her to finish and she gnawed her bottom lip.

He was right; they did need to fix this. Wyatt had been sullen before Tyler even showed up at the house and it was because of them, but Veronica didn't know what to say to make things right. She wasn't sorry for the way she felt or for defending Wyatt.

Logan stroked her cheek. "We'll talk tonight after the kids go to sleep."

She mutely nodded and slipped her hand in his for the walk home. At the end of their driveway, she disentangled their fingers. "I'll wait in the car for Pam; I don't want to alert Bailey to the presence of her favorite milk delivery system," she said dryly.

He smiled. "Ain't nothin' like the real thing, baby."

Leaning forward, he kissed the tip of her nose and Veronica seized the opportunity to run her hands over his stomach and up his chest. Logan grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back. His eyes searched her face, seeking permission before lowering his mouth to kiss her. It was a tender kiss and she sighed against his lips. _Why can't everything between us be as easy as this?_

Another quick peck and he stepped back. "Be safe."

"You too," she called, watching him disappear into the house.

He was training on the F-35 Lightning this week and she was always a little nervous when he was flying. This job Dottie found for him was the best of both worlds. Regular hours and no deployments meant he could be home every night, but he still got to fly and occasionally hang out with his former Navy buddies so Veronica kept her worry to herself.

She slid behind the wheel of the BMW to wait for Pam. When the other woman joined her, she put the car in reverse, backing from the drive and heading for Dick's. "So…." —a sidelong look at Pam— "what did you mean by the _'but only because you're Veronica'_ comment?"

Pam laughed. "Logan was right, you are persistent."

"Knowing my husband and his mood yesterday, _persistent_ sounds way too mild, are you sure it wasn't stubborn, obstinate, _relentless_?"

"Maybe," she demurred. "I just know that he doesn't want to keep secrets from you and anything I can tell you, he would tell you himself." _If you asked him_. Pam didn't say it, but it was clearly implied.

Veronica shrugged. They had a long history of keeping secrets from each other. Ascribe whatever reasons you wanted to it —fear of recrimination, self-protection, avoiding conflict— they were _both_ very good at withholding information. It was on their top ten list of 'issues Logan and Veronica need to work on.' _Top ten?_ She smirked. _More like top one hundred_.

"Let's just save time- tell me everything you know."

Another chuckle. "You're probably going to need to be more specific."

"Was the overdo—" Veronica started and stopped, frowning. Opening her mouth to start again, she promptly closed it. _Respecting personal boundaries- yet another item from our list._ Logan's past belonged to him and Pam was right. If there was something Veronica wanted to know about him, he needed to be the one to tell her. "Why did you drop out of his life so suddenly?"

"Carrie asked me to." There was no anger or bitterness in the simple statement.

"Did she have a reason?" _A reason like her boyfriend was the father of your son?_ "And more importantly, does Logan know?"

"He didn't then, but he does now; he asked me almost the exact same question yesterday." Pam shifted in her seat, turning her head to stare out the window. Veronica caught the movement in her peripheral vision and glanced over, unsure if Pam was going to answer her other question.

As the silence stretched on, she was convinced that Pam was done with the conversation, but then she said: "I don't think Carrie was jealous of _me_ —maybe what I represented? Logan had a lot of women from his past that he couldn't let go of, and I was just the available target."

Carrie wrote her posthumous hit song, _Ghosts_ , around the same time Pam visited with them in Chicago. The lyrics — _she's the voice in your head and the ghost in our bed_ — prompted Veronica to say, "You mean me."

"You, Lilly, his mom, Trina – take your pick."

 _And now I'm jealous_. Veronica clenched and unclenched her fingers around the steering wheel. It was the easy way Pam mentioned Lilly and Lynn, even Trina. For Logan to discuss these people with Pam, there needed to be an intimacy between them that went beyond sex and maybe even past friendship.

Veronica parked the car in front of Dick's house and shut off the engine. Twisting to face Pam, she asked: "Were you… did you and Logan date?"

"We went places and we had sex."

Veronica blinked. _Guess I didn't need to worry about being blunt with Pam_.

"If you want to call that 'dating' you can, but Logan and I never did. We were friends." Her sentence was laced with the bitterness that was missing earlier. _No, not bitter_ —Veronica corrected— _wistful_.

Not wanting to think about the significance of her tone, Veronica changed the subject. "I don't know if this is the best place for me to learn; I was only kidding about Dick having a stripper pole in his bedroom."

"I have a portable one. It only takes a few minutes to install and we'll be all set." She climbed from the car. "Know what song you're going to use?"

"No." Veronica shut the car door and followed her up the walkway. "Guess that would've been helpful, huh?"

Pam shrugged. "It's not a big deal. We'll work on a routine and put it to music later. I want to concentrate on floor work and keep you off the pole as much as possible." Using her key, she unlocked the front door. "The advanced tricks will take you too long to learn and you need to have really good core strength and flexibility."

The small daybed from the kitchen had been dragged onto the sun porch. It sat opposite the queen-sized bed and two large suitcases were spread open on its mattress. All the bamboo shades were drawn over the windows and doors. The lack of sunlight gave the house a gloomy feel.

Pam switched on a few lamps. "Logan insisted that we keep the windows covered at all times." She squatted next to the bed and slid a long box from beneath. "You can take this home when we're done - to practice."

"Uh, okay." _Maybe Logan will consider it an early Christmas present_.

They pushed the furniture out of the way. Pam got a stepladder and drill from Dick's pantry and, using a stud-finder, bolted a hook into the ceiling. After attaching the pole, she adjusted its height and mounted it, securing its base in a rubber non-skid plate.

Pam paused with her hand on the pole. "Thank you for doing this, Veronica."

The gratitude was sincere. Fighting the urge to wave it away or dismiss it with a casual _don't mention it_ , Veronica nodded in acceptance. "You're welcome." Before the silence had a chance to grow awkward, she patted the pole. "So how naked do I have to get?"

"The sneakers, socks, and yoga pants." Pam pulled off her shoes and undid the snap of her jeans, pushing them down and kicking them away. "You might want to lose the shirt too," she added as she took off her own t-shirt and tossed it on the sofa.

Veronica looked down at her clothes. When deciding what to wear for her first stripper class — _there's something I never thought I'd say_ — this had seemed like a good idea. She glanced at Pam in her black bra and matching bikini briefs. _Guess not_.

Correctly reading her hesitation, Pam explained, "The clothes will make you slip on the pole so it's easier to learn without them."

"What I actually meant was" —she toed off her sneakers and peeled off the yoga pants— "how naked do I have to get _at the club_?"

"We serve alcohol downstairs."

Veronica nodded and then stripped off her shirt. Serving alcohol meant no full nudity in the state of California. "What about upstairs in the VIP rooms?"

Pam sidestepped the question. "There are private booths on the first floor for lap dances, but those are for the same guys who've been drinking in the main club so topless is the limit." She wrapped her hands around the pole, slightly above her head. Bending her knees, she lifted her legs off the floor, supporting her body weight with just her arms. "This is a strength exercise- you're going to hold as long as you can and keep repeating it."

"The VIP rooms?" Veronica prompted, attempting the same exercise Pam just demonstrated. When her hands started to slip, she let go and returned to the floor.

"Upstairs has a separate entrance and no bar." Pam gripped the pole again, but instead of facing it, she kept it aligned with the side of her body and lifted. She drew her legs up, knees to chest, and slowly lowered them until her feet almost touched the floor and then pulled them up again.

It was almost the same exercise Veronica watched Logan do each morning — _hanging knee raises_ — on the pull up bar in their bedroom. She did two and decided it was more fun watching Logan get sweaty than actually doing them herself.

Pam showed her a few more exercises to do at homeand then started with the moves she'd need for her routine. "To walk around the pole, you're going to hold it lightly like the stem of a wine glass and you're going to cross your feet one in front of the other in a slow, sexy strut." As she explained, she demonstrated and then made Veronica do it.

They repeated the basics —walking around and sliding down the pole and turns— until Pam was satisfied with Veronica's performance. "We'll do spins next and then I'll show you how to climb the pole."

As she was talking, Pam lifted her leg, flexing her foot around the pole. She pulled her body up and her second leg joined the first. Raising her knees to her chest, she moved higher and then squeezed the pole between her legs, using them as support to stretch her body into an almost standing position. She frowned and slid back to the ground.

"Spins and floor work aren't going to be enough; you could learn these things in a basic pole dancing class." She turned away, shoulders slumping. "Maybe I should just take the money and run."

Tyler would be gone. There would be no worrying about having to share Logan with another family. Things would go back to normal. Well, _normal_ for them. But if Tyler was Logan's child, it would mean sentencing her husband to a life without his son and denying Tyler a really great father. She pushed her shoulders back. "Show me what else I need to learn."

"Are you—" Pam spun around and stopped talking. Her gaze swept over Veronica. With a nod, she smiled and said, "Persistent."

Returning to the pole, she explained each step of how to climb as she did it. She then rattled off a list of things —a basic invert, an aerial invert, transitions, and something called the caterpillar— that Veronica would need to learn.

The instructional followed the same already established pattern – monkey see, monkey do. It was grueling work, learning how to strip bare for a group of horny men. Veronica scooped her t-shirt from the floor, drying her hands and then the pole. "How did you learn all this?"

Pam laughed. "I'm naturally gifted." She effortlessly did the basic invert Veronica was struggling with and then inched her way down the pole like a caterpillar – push, lift, slide. "A woman at my first club in Reno took pity on me and showed me some things." She landed on the floor in a handstand and stood. "Your turn."

"Tell me about the other dancers at the club."

"We have sixty girls total, but only five of us work the private parties. Me, my friend Reina —Reina Fields— we danced together in Vegas until I quit to work at the casino." She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of water, passing one to Veronica. "There's Lacey Moskvin and Siobhan Byrne —I don't know too much about them except they're both from Neptune— and Karen."

Veronica gulped down the bottle of water and wiped her mouth. "Do you know where Karen is?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say she's with her mom in San Diego, but I can't say for sure." She palmed Veronica's hips, fixing her alignment and then adjusted her grip on the pole, sliding her hand up closer to her belly button. "Now push out and squat."

Veronica's arms started to wobble. "The two guys with Sam?" She gritted the question through clenched teeth.

"Frick and Frack?" Pam shrugged. "Sam calls one of them Mickey so maybe Michael? The other one is in the club a lot, but I don't know his name. He has a thing for Siobhan though, so she'd be able to tell you." She crossed the room to Dick's stereo. "I think you've had enough for today." She flipped through the CD's on top of the speaker. "Now I'll show you how all those moves work together."

"Must have more water first." Veronica dragged herself to the fridge. The cool air was blissful. She leaned in further, resting her forehead on the edge of a shelf. The wail of an electric guitar signaled the end of her momentary respite. Grabbing three bottles of water, she went back to the living room.

The moment she turned the corner, Pam started the show, strutting her way across the floor toward the pole. The lyrics of the song pulsed through the room. _But I got a girl who can put on a show. The dollar decides how far you can go. She wraps those hands around that pole. She licks those lips and off we go._

Veronica collapsed in one of the chairs, sucking down her water while she watched Pam perform. She stuck to only the moves she'd shown Veronica, blending them into a seamless routine. Logan's nickname for her, Little Red, was abundantly clear – _a body like yours oughta be in jail 'cause it's on the verge of being obscene_.

He'd written in his journal about Pam's private performance for him. There weren't explicit details, but her song choice didn't leave a lot to the imagination. Veronica twisted the now empty water bottle between her hands. Squeezing it in her fist, she chucked it on the table and picked up a fresh one.

Pam timed the dance to end with the song. Raising her voice to be heard over the next track on the CD, she said: "We can slow it down or speed it up depending on what song you pick." She crossed the room, clicked off the stereo and turned back to Veronica. "Of course you still have to learn how to do it in heels."

"How _do_ you do it? Strip in front of a room of strange men?" At the question, Pam's expression changed; her eyes hardened into flint and steel and her smile turned brittle. Obviously she'd misread Veronica's meaning. Shaking her head, she clarified, "Not _why_ , but how – is it like public speaking where you're supposed to picture the audience in their underwear?"

"God, don't do that. Seriously, don't." Pam pulled her t-shirt over her head. It stuck to her skin, outlining the curves. "Imagine someone. Think about Logan and" —she dropped her gaze— "dance for him."


	6. With a Little Help From My Friends

CHAPTER SIX

Dance lesson over, she had driven Pam back to the house. It was a quiet ride, neither of them willing to continue their conversation. For Veronica, it was the advice – _think about Logan and dance for him_. Not the words themselves, but the fact that Pam wouldn't meet her eyes when she said it. Veronica's follow-up question _'is that what you do'_ had remained unasked.

The mom-van was missing from the driveway, telling her that Logan had left for work. Its absence loosened Veronica's tongue enough to suggest that Pam wait at the house until she could drive her and Tyler back to Dick's. There wasn't much of a choice. Veronica was already late to meet Mac plus she still needed to see Loretta and shop for a costume.

When they entered the house, the kids were playing trucks on the living room floor. Wyatt seemed happier now that she didn't have to share Logan, letting Tyler play with her favorite yellow dump truck. Clearly, sharing toys was okay, but Daddy was _hers._

 _Hate to break it to you, kid, but he was mine first._

Bailey was equally content having tummy time on the floor with Dottie until she sensed the arrival of _food_ and demanded a late lunch. Leaving Pam to install the stripper pole, Veronica fed the baby, and then fled the suffocating house. It was like an episode of _Sister Wives_ \- Logan with his different women and multiple children.

She cruised past the gray house and Pam's jeep without slowing. There were outdoor light bulbs at the office with hidden security cameras that she could use in the fixture on the porch and over the garage doors. Plus there was a log cabin bird feeder she could hang in the crape myrtle, which would give her a complete view of the street. When she went back to mow the lawn and hang curtains, she'd set up the surveillance and get her first look at Sam's henchmen.

Paige was at the front desk and on the phone. Veronica gave her a wave before heading to Mac's office. She pushed open the door. "You know, I kinda miss your days as Preeminent People Greeter."

Mac frowned. "I think the title was First Impressions Officer and I like having an _office_ , with a _door_ , that most people use for _knocking_."

"Haven't we covered this ground before?" Veronica dropped into one of the visitor's chairs. "I'm not like most people; social conventions mean nothing to me."

"Like the one about lunch being somewhere between noon and two?" She asked dryly, handing Veronica two manila file folders.

"Is it? I hadn't heard."

The first file was the information on Shenanigans- business entity detail and a copy of the Statement of Information filed with the Secretary of State. Veronica flipped open the other file. The single sheet of paper was Tyler's birth certificate. Born in Mountain View Hospital at the end of October, his last name was Mitchell and his father was listed as unknown. College-Logan may have claimed to be bad at math, but aviator-Logan could certainly calculate nine months. She needed to revisit Logan's journal.

"Veronica?"

Snapping the file closed, she raised her head, and forced a smile. "Not much of a challenge, huh? Guess I'll have to try harder next time." She balanced the files on the edge of Mac's desk. "And speaking of next time… I need some background checks."

Grabbing a pen and a yellow legal pad from her messenger bag, Veronica copied down the names of the dancers Pam gave her. She put Joey Bianchi on the list and then added Sam Carlucci.

Chewing the end of the pen, she stared at the manila folders for a beat, and then wrote Pam Mitchell before giving Mac the sheet of paper. "Standard checks for all —finances, phone records, criminal history, known associates, DMV records— go back three years."

Mac was nodding along with her instructions, making notes next to the names. When she got to Pam, she looked at Veronica. "The mom?"

Veronica bristled at the title, _the_ mom. "Yes. In fact, start with her and give me everything you can find. Her father was a colonel in the Air Force and she was born overseas. I'll text you later with the name of the base."

Her brow crinkled in confusion. "You want me to go back to her _birth_? Isn't that a little extreme?"

"Too much of a challenge?" Veronica deflected.

"No, it's just…" Mac was staring at her with an odd expression. "Is she our client or are we working for the alleged dad?"

"Neither." The brusque reply pushed Mac back in her seat, deep worry lines replacing the confusion.

Trying for a more neutral tone, Veronica said: "Oh and one more thing" —she leaned over and wrote down the address of the decoy house— "The woman who lived here died without a Will- find out what you can about her and how far along the Public Administrator is in the search for her heirs."

"Same case?"

Veronica nodded. "Bill it all to me- no client."

Gone were the days of her father writing his hours and expenses on a log sheet inside the client files. Now they entered all the information into a computerized system. It made it easier to keep track of the retainer and to issue monthly invoices, but it also made it harder to hide things. "Call me when you've got something; I'm going to be working from home for a few days."

"Is everything okay?"

"Peachy." A skeptical raise of her brow said Mac wasn't buying it. Veronica elaborated, "Bailey still doesn't like her bottle."

Technically, it wasn't a lie. While not the reason for her proposed absence from work, the baby _didn't_ like her bottle and she hadn't since birth. But it hadn't stopped Veronica from returning to work after two months of maternity leave so it didn't make sense as an excuse now. Veronica scooped up her bag and stood. On her way from the office, she knocked on the door, and glanced back at Mac. "You mean like that?"

With a sad shake of her head, Mac turned back to the computer, flexing her fingers over the keyboard. Veronica closed the door on the rapid clacking of keys and skirted past her father's office. Stopping at the front desk, she gave Paige the same work-from-home conversation, retrieved the equipment she wanted from the supply closet, and then hustled her way from the building.

Paige was easy, taking the Bailey excuse at face value. Mac knew better, but wouldn't push. Her dad however would pull out his favorite mode of transportation —overstepping— until he got answers. Avoiding him was definitely her best play. At least until she could perfect her game face because right now there were cracks in the façade.

Not wanting to linger in the parking lot, she pointed the car in the direction of the beach and Loretta Cancun's house. Calling first was usually a mistake. Over the phone people found it easier to avoid you, citing their busy schedules or previous plans as reasons to not help, and Veronica needed her help.

Loretta's address was neither a house nor an apartment. It was an attached townhome in a gated community across the road from the beach. Her corner unit had two balconies —one on the ground level and one on the second floor— and was accessed from the side street. Veronica found street parking a few buildings down and walked back.

The glass-paned door that opened into a private courtyard was locked and required a key card. Disabling the lock and bypassing the flimsy security would be a less than endearing way to start her visit. She rang the bell and waited. The fisheye camera lens on the wall above the lock moved, but there was no welcoming fuzz from the intercom box.

Loretta's head emerged from the first door in the courtyard, turning to see who was ringing her bell. Instead of buzzing Veronica through the security door, she stepped out of the house. Barefoot and clad in a tank top and a pair of capris, her braids were pulled back in a ponytail and her face was absent of any makeup. She looked good. Younger and more relaxed than during her days at The Seventh Veil.

"Veronica Mars" —she pulled open the glass-paned door— "Saw your face in that little monitor thing and didn't believe it, had to see you for myself." Loretta twirled her finger, indicating she should turn around, and Veronica obliged the request. "Damn, you filled out nicely and in all the right places."

She shrugged. "Babies."

"You mean someone had the balls to actually knock you up?"

The pun was obviously unintended, but Logan would appreciate it when she told him later. _If_ she told him later. His ego was already approaching mythic proportions. "Twice."

"Shit, forget milk- babies do a body good." She pivoted on her heel and started back toward her front door, gesturing for Veronica to follow her inside.

The space was bright and open —resembling a loft— with gleaming hardwood floors and wide white columns. They passed a galley kitchen of oak, granite, and stainless steel on their right with a large island and pendant lights. Loretta righted one of the stools at the island as they made their way into the living room. Sliding glass doors on the far wall stood open, revealing the first floor balcony.

Loretta stopped short, gaze narrowing as she scanned the space with a critical eye. It was a habit Veronica had seen others exhibit, the need to try and see their home as strangers would. _Is it clean? Is everything in its place?_ It must be another one of those social conventions she didn't get because… _why do you care what someone else thinks?_

"That man," Loretta huffed, stalking across the room. She plucked the offending item from the sofa —a dress shirt— balled it in her fist and threw it through the sliding doors. It sailed over the wall of the balcony, presumably landing on the front lawn of the complex. "I keep telling him to stop leaving his shit around, messing up my house, but does he listen? Lucky, if I don't throw the rest of his crap out there."

Veronica grinned. This was the Loretta she remembered.

She waved at the now clean sofa. "Sit." The one word was more command than offer and Veronica was enveloped by the plush leather couch before she even realized she was following the order. "Okay, tell me what you need and I'll make it happen."

That was almost too easy. "Why?"

Her head jerked back in surprise. "You did me a real solid with that Suds-N-Duds business. I don't forget these things" —she tapped her temple— "and Loretta always pays her debts."

Helping Loretta escape those charges was only a lucky byproduct of saving Wallace from the PCHers. She didn't owe Veronica a thing, but now wasn't the time to split hairs. "I have a new case that requires me to go undercover as a stripper."

An appraising look and then a slow nod. "You'll be real good at that."

Veronica leaned forward. "Stripping?" Her voice climbed an octave on the last syllable.

"Uh-huh. Going undercover- it's all an act right? You're pretending to be something, someone else to get what you need? Same with stripping. You pretend to be their sexual fantasy and they give you money."

 _Private investigation and stripping are the same; Dad will be pleased to know_. "I'm going to need to provide work experience and references and I wanted—"

"Done. You just tell them you worked at The Seventh Veil and I'll back you up. Now what are you thinking about hair and makeup and costumes?"

"I was going to Fredericks of—"

"No." Loretta shook her head. "You go to Wicked Venus over on Midway; I'll get you the address." Standing, she started for the stairs and paused, frowning. "Where you gonna be doing this dancing?"

"Shenanigans, it's on—"

"I know where it is." Her mouth snapped closed, opened, and closed again as if she wanted to say something and then changed her mind. Loretta's sudden restraint was a little disconcerting _and_ disappointing. "At least it's in Balboa County – that's good." She nodded to herself. "Because if it was in San Diego you'd need a police permit."

 _Police permission to strip?_

Before Veronica could question the information, Loretta disappeared upstairs. When she returned, she picked up the conversation. "All adult entertainers need permits. And _don't_ say you do bachelor parties; you need a _special_ outcall permit for that- even in Balboa." Her mouth pursed in disapproval. Whether it was the 'special' rules in Balboa County or the need for permits at all that earned her ire, Veronica couldn't be sure.

Loretta held the business card out for her and Veronica glanced at the pink script before tucking the card in her bag. She'd have to see what Mac could do about creating a backdated outcall permit for her alias. Bachelor parties were her plan for what she'd been doing for work since leaving The Seventh Veil.

"Thanks for this" —Veronica patted the pocket with the business card and started to stand— "I'll call you with my alias and stage name so you'll know…" She fell silent as Loretta shook her head.

"We're not done. There's stuff you still need to know." Pointing at the couch, she waited for Veronica to sit back down and then continued. "Lap dances are where the money's at and some clubs are a little loose with the no touching rules so decide what you will do and what's a hell no."

"You get that I'm not actually trying to make a living as a stripper right?"

Loretta rolled her eyes. "But you need to _look_ like you are so pay attention." She held up one finger. "Personal boundaries- set them and keep them." A second finger popped up. " _Never_ tell a customer you're getting off work or that your shift ends soon. They might follow you or hang out in the parking lot, waiting for you. Plus the crazy-ass pigs think this is _solicitation_." Another eye roll and she held up a third finger. " _Always_ have a bouncer walk you to your car at the end of the night."

That was a tidbit she'd be keeping from Logan. It would just lend credence to his dumb idea of going undercover with her. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, forget that 'you have to smile' shit. Now don't get me wrong, smiling is good, but don't be grinning like some damn fool who's been huffing laughing gas. Flirt with them, tease. Make them want what they can't have."

"Got it- coy, flirty smiles."

"Oh and eye contact —like you're dancing just for them— only don't actually look them in the eye, stare right here." She jabbed her forefinger in between Veronica's eyebrows. "You're gonna get a bikini wax before you start, but keeping up with that shit is impossible, so when you shave, apply some gel deodorant after your shower, for the redness. Me? I like to use Neosporin instead of shaving cream, but coconut oil works too."

Veronica nodded along as the list continued: shave bikini with the grain, thighs against; don't wear lotion and grease up the pole- the girls will _hate_ you; stay hydrated; exfoliate; use body glitter; wear extra makeup because the stage lights will wash you out.

The endless words created a not-unpleasant susurration of sound, lulling Veronica. When Loretta finally stopped talking, the silence was jarring.

Veronica's first question had nothing to do with the litany of stripper advice. "Do you know someone who dances at Shenanigans?"

Loretta clucked her tongue. "Were you listening to me at all?"

She nodded. "No to lotion, yes to body glitter. Good-fitting shoes so they don't fly off and hit someone."

Eyes narrowing, Loretta used the same critical gaze to scrutinize Veronica that she'd used earlier on her living room, and then she said, "No, I don't know any girls at that place." She spit the words _'that place'_ from her mouth like they left a bad taste. "Look, the Veil was a dive, but you knew what you were getting- horny guys looking to get their rocks off, working guys, husbands. They had their favorite girls and their fetishes… There was this one guy who got off on _feet_. Can you believe that shit?" Loretta shook her head in disbelief. "Blows his paycheck to see _feet_ \- could've gone to Payless and saved himself some money."

Another pun Logan would appreciate. "Shenanigans is different?"

"Yeah, it's for the rich folk" —her lips compressed together in a grim line— "And you've been around Neptune long enough to know how the rich treat their playthings."

Loretta stood, signaling an end to their conversation. She walked Veronica out of the house, through the courtyard, and back to the front entrance. "Watch yourself is what I'm saying and call me. My cell's on that business card and I'll pick up for you."

The rich and their playthings: Jake and Lianne; Big Dick and Kendall; Aaron and… everybody. Logan and Pam? Veronica frowned. There were pieces missing to that picture. She had Pam's _'we had sex and we went places'_ but the softness in her eyes when she looked at Logan set lie to those words. Logan's journal sketched in facts; he didn't wax poetic over his _feelings_ for Pam.

Veronica drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. It was late, but she didn't want to go home. Pulling the business card for Wicked Venus from her bag, she flipped it over. As promised, Loretta's cell number was carefully printed on the back. She used her own cell to call the store for their hours. They were open until eight.

The store on Midway was conveniently located next to a strip club, across the street from a short-stay motel, and a bar. There was also a pancake house on the corner, handy for carb-loading to absorb all the alcohol you just consumed. Veronica pulled into the parking lot the store shared with the club. Their sign touted the strippers as "showgirls" in an effort to sound classy. She found a spot right near the exit.

Parking was an easier decision than deciding what to wear for her exotic dancing debut. She'd already discarded the short sleeve, mid-drift showing, tie-top, and the schoolgirl skirt as too trite. Same for actual costumes —naughty nurse, French maid, sexy cop— all in the reject pile. Two hours and she still couldn't decide between the last five outfits.

She shrugged, taking them all to the counter along with the various G-strings, bras, garters, stockings, and _ridiculously_ high heels. As the sales clerk rang up the last item, Veronica added the black thigh-high boots with the six inch platform heel, and lace up front.

Tossing her bags in the trunk, she powered up her phone, and checked the missed call log. There were four calls- two from Mac, one from her dad, and the last was Logan. She shut it down and returned it to the center console without calling any of them.

The beach road —historic route 101— was a long, slow drive. If she were a different person, it would be a great time for self-reflection and examining all the reasons she was so determined to play stripper. But she was not that girl. Instead she used the time to rapidly click through stations on the radio and her iPod in search of a song.

Logan was home and Dottie's car was gone. _Hope he enjoyed his time playing house with Pam_. She pulled the car alongside his SUV. Leaving the shopping bags in the trunk, Veronica went inside.

Wyatt's excited and loud, "Paints," told Veronica the location of her family. She punched in the alarm code, crossed the living room, and headed for the hallway bath.

"Not tonight, tomorrow."

Logan's rejection of the tub finger painting elicited a counteroffer from their daughter. "Bubbles?"

"Okay, but first you have to pick out your pajamas and brush your teeth."

Wyatt was already exerting control of her wardrobe choices. It all started with those tutus — _thanks Dick_ — and had progressed to weird sleeping attire, strange color combinations, and a need to accessorize all outfits. She raced from the bathroom, running straight into Veronica. "Mama, jammie ti'e."

"Is that like Hammer time?"

She screwed up her face in that 'mommy-makes-no-sense' frown and then dismissed her with a "Silly Mama," before continuing her rush to her room.

Logan had Bailey in one arm and was adding bubbles to the bathwater with the other. The baby was in a hooded towel, her head resting on Daddy's shoulder, sucking her fist. She pumped her legs and grinned when she saw Veronica. Logan's expression was not that beguiling. "Hey, Sweet Gypsy Rose, want to tell me why there's a stripper pole in the garage?"

"Because it didn't go with the bedroom curtains." She took Bailey from him, holding her close and inhaling the scent of fresh, clean baby. "Where are Pam and Tyler?"

"I took them home an hour ago."

The baby was nuzzling her breast and opening her mouth. "Did Bailey eat?" Even as she asked the question, Veronica lifted the hem of her shirt.

"At dinnertime… like the rest of us."

With his disappearance on Sunday, he'd lost the right to make snippy comments about her missing dinner. "Looks like you've got this all under control; I'll leave you to it." She turned on her heel to leave and Logan put a staying hand on her shoulder. Without turning back, she angled her face to see him and waited.

He cupped her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek. "What about you, did you have dinner?"

Tender, caring Logan was hard to resist. "I was going to stop at In-N-Out, but I…didn't." She almost said, _I forgot_ , but Logan would take her forgetting to eat as a sign of the apocalypse.

"Dottie made chicken parm; I left a plate for you in the microwave." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's garlic bread too."

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to put Bailey to bed and then take my own hot bath."

"Your bath might have to wait because—"

Wyatt chose then to return, carrying an armful of clothes. She dumped them all on the bathroom floor. "Jammies!"

There was a bathing suit bottom, a pair of leggings, an electric blue tutu, and one sock. Veronica grinned at the assortment. "Good luck with that," she muttered to Logan as she left the bathroom with the baby.

Bringing Bailey to their bedroom, she finished nursing, and then put her in a pair of _actual_ pajamas. She turned off the lights and settled into the comfort rocker to start Bay's nighttime ritual of needing motion to fall asleep. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the baby's back, and hummed a lullaby.

Veronica was just drifting off herself when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she gingerly stood and put Bailey in the co-sleeper and then went to get the door. She checked the security monitor — _Mac_ — before disarming the alarm system. Her arrival explained why the hot bath was going to have to wait. She must have called Logan earlier when Veronica failed to respond to the voicemails on her cell.

"Let me guess- you had all the background checks done by dinner?"

"I'm here to babysit." Her eyes swept over Veronica's yoga pants, sweaty t-shirt, and ratty hair as she walked inside. "Logan said you were going out."

"Not me. The only place I'm going is bed." She relocked the door. "But since you're here, let me get you the name of the Air Force base."

"I don't need…" Mac leaned to the side, peering into the kitchen and then glanced down the hall. "Where's Logan?"

"Getting Wyatt ready for bed. Did you already finish the background check on Pam?"

"No, because one of the first things that popped was this." Mac slid a sheet of paper from her laptop case and handed it to Veronica.

It was a printout of a tabloid article. The headline read: _Like Mother, Like Son_. A picture of Logan exiting a church with Pam at his side bore the caption: _Logan Echolls and his girlfriend, Pam Mitchell, leaving a Narcotics Anonymous meeting_. Veronica crumpled the paper in her fist. "I can't—"

Mac cut her off. "Are you investigating _Logan_?"


	7. Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?

CHAPTER SEVEN

 _No_ , _of course not_. The denial was right there, but was it the truth? _Am I investigating Logan?_ If this was just a regular case, she would have looked into Pam —blindly trusting her client was a mistake she'd made before and one she wouldn't repeat— but would she have asked for everything? Even when helping Trina, she didn't ask Mac to go beyond the boundaries of what could be useful to the case. This time she'd had no qualms about digging up anything- even if it involved her husband.

"I wish I could explain it to you Mac, but I can't right now. Just trust me, this isn't about Logan." Veronica glanced at the balled up paper in her hand. "At least not directly."

"Logan wouldn't cheat on you." Mac took the article from her, hiding it back in her bag. "Even with an ex."

A mute nod was her only response. Loretta told her to set personal boundaries before stripping at the club. It was good advice, but also unnecessary. Veronica was an expert at setting boundaries. Logan cheating on her would cross that line into unforgivable territory and there would be no coming back. This life, their marriage, the kids, meant too much to him to even consider approaching that line. It was an unassailable fact.

"I have to go say goodnight to Wyatt."

Veronica rushed past Mac, heading for the hall, but her steps slowed as she approached Wyatt's bedroom door. Logan was reading a bedtime story "…a pancake."

"With 'nanas?"

"I don't know; I think pigs like corn in their pancakes."

"No, Daddy- 'nanas."

Veronica smiled. Leaving them to finish the book, she detoured to the master suite. The cool, dark bedroom was quiet except for the gentle whirring of the fan and an occasional grunt from a sleeping Bailey. She crossed through the dark space to the closet, slipping inside and waiting until the door was closed behind her before turning on the light.

Logan gave her his journal before he proposed. The small leather-bound book was more valuable than the expensive engagement ring he gave her a month later. Logan quite literally became an open book to her, sharing all his secrets and the dark places in his head. She'd wanted to marry him in a general, abstract kind of way —she loved him, they were living together and having a baby, so why not— but his willingness to be completely honest with her, turned the abstract into a concrete _I want to marry this man_.

It was on the top shelf inside a shoe box. With her fingertips she nudged the box closer to the edge. It was almost in reaching distance. _'I let you read my journal… I confessed and you're judging me.'_ Logan's earlier words stopped her and she dropped her arm to her side.

Using the information inside those pages to investigate Pam skirted very close to a betrayal of trust. There were things Logan wanted and needed from her. Two of the biggest were the ones she'd withheld in the past- love and trust. Veronica didn't want to go back to those days. If she took this one step how long would it be before she was tracing his cell and installing a GPS tracker in his car?

"Looking for something to wear?" Logan was leaning against the door jamb. Veronica rushed him, grabbing a fistful of his tee shirt and yanking him into the closet with her. He leered at her. "Ooh, are we going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven?"

Rolling her eyes, she gently closed the door. "I don't want the light to wake the little eating machine."

"Funny, but I thought _you_ were the little eating machine." He ran his hands down her arms to her waist and drew her closer. "You know" —he glanced around the small space— "I don't think I've ever had sex in a closet before." With each word, his fingers inched higher, disappearing beneath her shirt. He stroked her skin and kissed her neck. "Well, unless you count second base with Tammy Forrester… which I don't."

Veronica pushed at his shoulder, breaking the lip and skin contact. "And it's not going to happen now."

Logan hung his head in mock disappointment. "Guess I shouldn't have brought up Tammy, huh?"

"Or asked Mac to come babysit."

He withdrew his hands from beneath her shirt, eyes rounding with sadness. His disappointment was real. It wasn't about the sex —not entirely— but the need to be close to her, to reconnect. Veronica relented, allowing her body to relax into him; she rested her head on his chest and slid her arms around his waist. He tightened his hold on her.

"Why _did_ you ask Mac to babysit?"

"Usual reason- I want to take my wife out." Logan kissed the top of her head.

"Dinner and dancing?"

"Uh… there'll be some dancing," he hedged.

Smelling a rat, she lifted her head to see his face. His eyes were pinned to the shelf above her left shoulder, refusing to make contact. Veronica's gaze narrowed. "What did you do?"

He let her go and took a step back. "We can fight about it in the car."

Folding her arms over her chest, she raised her chin and scowled at him. "Let's save some time and fight about it now, then I can put on my pajamas and go to bed."

"You said we'd talk after the girls went to sleep."

Veronica was pretty sure that tonight's talk was on _his_ agenda, not hers. "We don't need to go out to—"

Logan cut her off her protest with a decisive, "But we are." Taking another step away, he turned on his heel and slipped from the closet, knowing Bailey's presence in their bedroom prevented her from stalking after him to demand answers.

With a mutinous glare at the door, she sat heavily on the upholstered bench. Fifteen minutes. Experience said that was how long she had to decide before Logan would come looking for her. She could either get ready to go out or prepare to make her final stand in a closet.

It wasn't worth it.

She pulled a lacy halter top from a nearby hanger, grabbed her favorite strappy sandals, and went in search of a pair of black skinny jeans. Trying to locate said jeans quietly and in the dark cut her fifteen minutes in half. She used her remaining time to rinse off, braid her wet hair, and get dressed.

Logan had changed too. The casual sweats were gone and in their place was a pair of well-worn jeans and Frye boots. He'd completed the outfit with a dark green fitted Henley left open at the collar. _Maybe going out wasn't such a bad idea_.

As they sized each other up, Mac made gagging noises. Logan either didn't hear — _impossible_ — or he chose to ignore her, so focused on his slow perusal of Veronica. "We'll be home late."

Veronica shook her head. "Not that late."

" _Very_ late," Logan corrected.

"Well go already," Mac said, giving them both a one-handed push toward the front hall.

"Eager for us to leave?" Logan arched a brow. "You're not planning an unchaperoned party are you?"

"Absolutely, the kegs are in my trunk and all my friends are waiting in the bushes," Mac deadpanned. "So try not to be home before midnight, okay?"

Veronica paused at the alarm pad, reminding Mac to check the doors to the deck, and to arm the security system. Once outside, she waited for the reassuring slide of the deadbolt behind her and the comforting beeps from the alarm. Then she turned to Logan. "Ready to tell me where we're going?"

"First I'm going to feed you." He held open her door. "French dip from The Spot?"

He'd chosen his location well. Only a few blocks from a quiet, cliffside park, the restaurant offered a to-go menu and he could trap her in the car with cheesy, chorizo potato skins. _Well played- one point to Logan_.

Veronica slid into the passenger seat without comment. He took her silence as acquiescence, climbing behind the wheel and driving to the restaurant. It was a short trip made interminably long by the quiet. She smirked. _You can tempt Veronica with food, but you can't make her talk_.

When he asked her if she wanted something with her sandwich, she just shrugged. His mouth twitched with the hint of a smile at her game of silence. "Have it your way, but I'm getting potato skins and a milkshake with my sandwich."

Her traitorous stomach growled and he laughed. The look she gave him clearly told him what she thought of his amusement - _jackass_.

Logan leaned into the car and kissed her nose. "I love you too, snookums."

She averted her face, only turning back once he'd made his way into the restaurant. It would serve him right if she drove away and left him stranded here, but she really wanted that French Dip. She'd skipped lunch and dinner and the only thing she'd had for breakfast were the soggy remains of Wyatt's cereal.

He returned with two disproportionate bags and handed her the _much_ smaller one. Securing his larger bag between his knees, he started the car and drove to the park. The spot he chose was a distance from the other cars with a clear view to the ocean. He turned off the car and emptied the contents of his bag —a large milkshake, garlic-parmesan fries, pretzel sticks with jalapeno cheese dipping sauce, and the promised potato skins— balancing each item on the dashboard and sticking the shake in the cup holder.

Veronica rolled her eyes. It was a transparent ploy. There was no way her health-conscious, kale-eating husband was going to consume all those calories. She unwrapped her sandwich, which seemed to have shrunk during the short drive.

"Pam said you should be ready to audition by the end of the week." Logan popped a fry in his mouth, slowly chewing while staring at her. "My first shift as bouncer is Friday night."

Gritting her teeth, she dropped her sandwich on the bag spread across her lap. "We weren't done talking about it."

"That's rich," he muttered under his breath. "It's not really up for discussion, Veronica; if you're dancing there, then I'm going to work the door." Logan jabbed a fry in her direction. "Do you know what goes on inside some strip clubs? Because I do."

"I'm not exactly a naïve runaway from the Midwest." He winced and she belatedly remembered the scrawny, addicted Jane from his journal. Shared or separate, their past was never far from the surface and now it was standing between them. A physical presence keeping them at odds. She sighed. "What name did you use?"

At least he was starting at the club before her. If they both started on the same day, it would create a link between them in their co-workers memory. The only problem was a cover story for him. His partnership with Trina in Echo Films ensured Logan's name was published in any story surrounding her movies. The same stories invariably mentioned his connection to Aaron. Fortunately, Logan's naval career usurped the tales of bum fights and murder accusations, but he wasn't exactly unrecognizable.

"I didn't give them a name; they pay their bouncers under the table. Pam will just introduce me as an old friend from Vegas."

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "Too risky, they're going to think she called you as protection."

"Maybe." No longer facing her, he was staring through the windshield at the ocean. He picked up the milkshake, took a sip and fiddled with the straw, sliding it in and out of the hole in the plastic lid.

Her shoulders slumped and she poked at the remaining half of her sandwich, appetite gone. Evasive and fidgety meant he was withholding information. Her mistrust of Pam and bringing up Mercer had made him retreat and she didn't know how to fix things. Pretending everything was okay would only be a lie.

"What's wrong?" He asked, touching her cheek, fingertips stroking across her skin and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want us to be on opposite sides."

"We don't have to be" —he shifted in his seat to stare at her— "Because this isn't Neptune High and we're not seventeen anymore."

Tilting her head, she evaluated his words. No, they weren't teenagers. They were grownups with a marriage and children and a burgeoning ability to compromise. They were never going to agree on the Tyler issue. Logan wanted to take it on faith and she needed facts. But they didn't have to declare war. Correction, _she_ didn't have to declare war. They could reach détente on Pam's case at least. It was a start.

"Okay," she agreed, leaning over the center console to kiss him. While he was distracted, she stole the potato skins, broke the kiss, and settled back in her seat with her ill-gotten gains. "Now tell me where we're going tonight."

His gaze swung from the potatoes in her hand to the empty spot on the dashboard. "You know you could be charged with petty theft by trick for that move."

She shrugged. "But you like it when I'm stealthy, remember." Veronica took a large bite of a potato skin, letting the warm cheddar cheese and spicy sausage slide over her tongue.

"No" —he licked the cheese from the corner of her mouth— "I didn't say I liked it; I said it turned me on."

"You have such a way with words." She kissed him again and reached for the milkshake, but this time he got there first, planting his palm firmly across the lid and trapping it inside the cup holder. Veronica nipped at his bottom lip and pulled away. "You think you know me so well."

"I do." A suggestive leer and a bob of his eyebrows said he was talking about more than her attempt to steal his drink. "The proof, as they say, is in the milkshake." Keeping his palm across the plastic lid, he used his other hand to grasp her fingers and remove her hand from the cup. He then picked it up and took a slow, deliberate sip. "Mmm."

She scrunched her nose and pouted. "I'm thirsty."

"And I'm incapable of resisting you," he said with an exaggerated, showy sigh as he passed her the milkshake. "It's a good thing I love demanding women with big blue eyes who pout when they don't get their way."

"I don't pout."

"Whatever you say, Veronica." Logan reached for the remaining fries and pretzel sticks and balanced both on her side of the dashboard. "You don't pout and I don't surrender to your every whim."

"Hardly. If you did surrender to my every whim, you'd give up your crazy idea of being bouncer _and_ you'd tell me where we're going tonight instead of being evasive."

"One and the same."

"Way to be cryptic," she groused.

"Haven't you heard- women like a man of mystery."

"You should only be concerned with one woman and in case you haven't heard- I'm pretty good at unraveling a mystery." She returned the milkshake to the cup holder. "And I'm not going to a strip club with you."

His mouth curved in the slight, appreciative smile that made her hot and tingly. "When did you figure it out?"

"Please" —she waved a dismissive hand— "I unraveled you a long time ago: some dancing, home very late, I know what goes on inside some strip clubs."

"You do unravel me," his voice dropped to a seductive whisper as he nuzzled her neck with his nose and kissed her collarbone. "I love you, Veronica Mars, but" —he straightened, moving away from her, and his pitch returned to normal— "We _are_ going to a strip club. You need to see that my idea is not crazy."

She arched a brow. "Are you just trying to sell me on your bouncer plan or are you trying to scare me out of dancing at Shenanigans?"

Logan's enigmatic smile was answer enough.

Strip clubs were one of the frequent stops on the train of sleaze Veronica followed in pursuit of cheating spouses. Sometimes it was the pre-game show before said cheater would hit the meat-market bar and the cheap motel, but sometimes it was the final destination after striking out earlier in the evening. Occasionally, the wayward spouses would bring their "dates" to the strip club with them- a foreplay shortcut? Veronica shrugged.

If Logan wanted to waste his time trying to make her change her mind, she wasn't going to stop him. She'd already resigned herself to the fact that he wasn't going to change _his_ mind. "How are you planning to make people believe that Logan Echolls needs work as a bouncer?"

"I can be very convincing."

She rolled her eyes. "I need more specifics than just your overconfident smugness."

"I'll let them think what you said- that Pam called me to help her. Keep the lie as close to the truth as possible, right?" Flippant, was the best way to describe his tone and that was never a good sign.

He started the car and she grabbed the carton of soft pretzel sticks from the dash before they fell. She dragged one through the cheese sauce. "And why would you…" The pieces clicked into place. Her lips flattened into a grim line. "You're going to let them believe you're Tyler's father."

"I can't control what people think."

Veronica gathered up the remaining food and threw it in the empty sack. She could feel Logan shooting concerned glances at her, afraid he'd set off yet another argument. It made sense. Pam called her son's father, explained that they were in danger, and he came running to help. It's what Veronica thought, so why wouldn't everyone else.

Now she would get to listen to the other dancers speculate about Pam's relationship with Logan —he's Tyler's father, were they married, think they're still sleeping together? _Not Neptune High, my ass_. The gossip would be worse than anything Carrie or Madison could create because this time some of it would be true.

The "gentlemen's club" he drove them to — _Teasers_ —was an outcropping of neon lights and loud music in a sea of car dealerships and strip malls. Was it a rule? Did all stripclubs need a suggestive or salacious name to stay in business? Logan pulled into the crowded parking lot, slowing to a cruise in search of a spot.

Despite it being a regular jaunt, she'd actually never been inside a strip club during working hours. Twice, she'd planted secret cameras in the private rooms —Chris Rock was wrong; sometimes there _is_ sex in the champagne room— and gone back in the morning to retrieve her pictures. "So how many times have you been to a strip club? I don't need exact numbers- more than twenty, less than fifty?"

Logan muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like _landmine_ before saying, "Navy and friends with Dick."

She smirked. "That many, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her purse from the floor and pushed open the car door. Logan met her at the trunk, enfolding her hand in his for the walk to the club. Music spilled from the open doors along with a group of drunk, rowdy guys. They jostled each other, bumping shoulders, and passing around a pack of cigarettes.

One of the guys spoke around the cigarette dangling from his mouth, "Hey Ed, maybe your future wife will come to the strip club with you." He jerked his chin toward Veronica, a broad smile on his face.

Not taking his eyes off Veronica, Ed punched his friend's arm and muttered, "Yeah like that'll happen."

Veronica leaned closer to Logan. "I'm not buying this future wife story; I don't think any of them have ever been this close to a girl before."

"Uh, are you planning to have me fight an entire bachelor party to defend you and your sassy mouth?" His eyes flicked to the group, taking their measure. "Because I'll gladly oblige, but we're still going inside when I'm done."

She shrugged. "You have your turn-ons and I have mine."

The corner of his mouth twitched and he shook his head. Withdrawing his wallet, he paid the cover charge and then handed her a stack of bills before hustling her through the double doors. A Ludacris song was just starting: _Shake your money maker like somebody 'bout to pay ya… If you want it, come get it, stand next to this money like eh, eh, eh._ A busty brunette wearing nothing but a black G-string, five inch, clear acrylic heels, and pieces of black electrical tape in an x over each of her nipples was on the stage, shaking her money maker.

There were two empty stools at the thin counter surrounding the stage and Veronica made her way toward them. Logan grabbed her hand, reeling her back to his side and away from the chairs. Ducking his head, he pressed his lips to her ear. "We're not sitting at the rail."

"Why not?" She questioned, following him up a short staircase to the second level of the club. An array of two-top and four-top pub tables was arranged in a single file ring with clear views to the stage.

The third level of the club housed the DJ behind a glass window and offered large black leather booths for bigger groups. It also had the bar- a long stretch of wood and mirrors with a quartz countertop and neon lights. Girls were sliding and twisting around poles placed at strategic intervals along its surface.

Logan guided her to an empty table for two. "The rail is a gallery of pervs."

"So Dick's regular spot then?" She scanned the counter. They were all single guys with their heads tilted back and their eyes glued to the stage. A new dancer was starting her set. She was decked out in one of the costumes Veronica had rejected – the plaid schoolgirl skirt with a white button-down blouse knotted above her navel, and a black lace bra.

Veronica zeroed in on one guy at the rail. He had a line of five dollar bills spread in front of him and a twenty tucked next to his drink. Two fingers were resting on the first bill and each time the dancer did a new move, he inched the bill closer to the stage, but didn't release it. When she moved away from him, he pulled the bill back a hair. She circled the pole and did a slut drop in front of him, spreading her legs, and then snapping her knees closed. He pushed the five onto the stage. _Gross_. "I wonder what would earn the twenty."

Logan turned his head, following her line of sight. "You don't want to know."

"Why? Isn't that the point of this entire outing- to make me change my mind?"

Before he could answer, the dancer with the electrical tape nipples appeared next to his chair and offered him a lap dance. Logan shook his head. Leaning in closer, she whispered something in his ear that made him smile, but he shook his head again. Then he handed her a ten and she moved away.

When he turned back to Veronica, his smile disappeared, and he picked up the conversation as if they hadn't been interrupted. "He probably wants to cop a feel —a hand up her skirt or down her bra— before he parts with his twenty. See all the guys who are wearing Adidas warm-up pants, loose-fitting shorts, or sweatpants? They're probably going commando because they're looking to come during a lap dance or they're going to jerk off under the tables."

Veronica looked around the club, confirming there were _a lot_ of guys wearing the _exact_ outfit he'd described. Another dancer started to approach their table and Logan waved her off before she reached his chair. "There's even a company that sells pants _specifically_ for lap dances – they have a latex crotch and you can lube up your dick before leaving the house- they guarantee an orgasm from a lap dance or your money back."

Gross would be an understatement. Her nose crinkled in distaste. "I think I'm afraid to ask how you know this."

"Because strippers are people, Veronica, and just like the rest of us, they bitch about their jobs. I've heard them warn the other girls about the creeps, like the guy who pokes his dick out of the top of his shorts so she'll touch it." His nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, flattening his lips into a thin line. "And let's not forget the ones who think these women owe them more than a dance."

She put a calming hand on his arm. "Okay, I get it."

"Do you?" His eyes searched her face with an unsettling intensity. He was pushing her to think about things she wasn't ready to acknowledge let alone examine in detail.

To end the conversation, she nodded in agreement. "Now enough with the hard sell, Echolls." She patted his cheek. "You can come play undercover detective with me."

"Veronica." Her name was half plea and half resignation.

Turning away from his troubled eyes, she scanned the room. "What say we call back your scantily clad friend and get you a lap dance?"

"Not gonna happen."

Electrical tape was busy riding some other guy's lap. Veronica watched her work; cataloging her moves and the easy way she kept removing the guy's hands from her thighs without losing her smile, or rhythm. She glanced at Logan. "What did she whisper to you anyway?"

"That I should buy _you_ a dance." There was no eyebrow bob or suggestive leer or sexy smirk to accompany the remark. _Not good_. If Logan was ignoring his opportunity to have a nearly naked chick rub herself all over his wife, he was too focused on their conversation.

"A dance for me, huh? There's an idea." Veronica searched the club for the right dancer. Every other girl was a blonde, but she was looking for just the right distraction. Logan didn't think he had a type, but he did and she knew it well. "The blonde at the end of the bar in the skimpy black shorts and bikini top."

Raising his head, he found the dancer she described. "No, Veronica."

She ignored him, making eye contact with the blonde and waving her over.

The dancer made her way through the club; a wide smile on her face and a calculating look in her eyes as she sized up Logan. Veronica stared at her husband, trying to see him like a stripper would. Clean-cut, not wearing the creepy loose pants, here with a woman, and —with his designer jeans, four hundred dollar boots, and expensive watch— obviously wealthy. Appearances said he'd be safe and have money to burn.

"Dance?" The blonde addressed the question to Logan.

"Not me," he answered, standing and jutting his chin toward Veronica. "It's for her." He pulled two twenties from his front pocket and tossed them on the table. "I'll be at the bar."

Veronica tracked his movement across the room. This wasn't turning out the way she wanted.

Logan's departure didn't stop the lap dance. The blonde was dancing between Veronica's spread legs, rotating her hips in time with the music. She slowly turned, put her hands on Veronica's knees and lowered her bottom into Veronica's lap. Her hips started to grind in a circular motion right in time to R. Kelly's words, _I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind_.

"He's watching," the dancer informed her, raising her voice to be heard over the music. "Touch me and make his night." As she spoke, she lifted Veronica's hands and put them on her chest.

Veronica glanced at the bar. Logan was leaning against it; his back to the bartender and his eyes focused on her. He was too far for her to judge his expression. She was hoping for the dilated pupils, rapid pulse, and labored breathing —signs he was enjoying the show— but was afraid she'd find the pinched eyes and tight lips that said he was still annoyed.

The dance ended with the song and the stripper plucked her forty bucks off the table, tucking it into her minuscule shorts. She tossed the words, "Good luck," over her shoulder as she walked away in search of her next customer.

Logan took his time returning. "Are you done or do you want to put on another show for the guys in the back?"

She angled her head to look up at him. This was a mix she hadn't seen in a long time- angry, jealous, _and_ turned on. There was also a hint of worry, or maybe it was concern. Either way, Veronica chose to ignore it. Standing, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and stroked her fingers over his bare stomach. "The show was for you."

"Really?" His eyebrows hit his hairline and then collapsed into a tight-knit frown. "Because I'm pretty sure this is all about you." His hand encircled her wrist, stilling her movements. "What's going on, Veronica?"

"Nothing." Pulling her hand from his grip, she turned and grabbed her purse from the table. Without another word, she stalked from the club. Logan gave chase. She could feel him behind her as she barreled through the door and marched across the parking lot.

"Will you just stop and talk to me?"

Veronica whirled on him. "I don't want to talk; I want to fuck."

With a slow shake of his head, he closed the small gap between them. "No, you don't." He rested his hands on her shoulders.

Thrusting out her chin, she hissed air through gritted teeth. "Well, not anymore."

"Not at all." He gently rubbed her shoulders. "I may not know what's going on inside that head of yours, but I _do_ know when my wife is in the mood." He nipped her earlobe and kissed down the side of her neck while his hands smoothed across her back and over her ass, pulling her closer.

"Logan." It was supposed to be a protest, but her body betrayed her by snuggling closer to him. She tilted her head, baring her neck and his mouth closed over the hollow of her collarbone.

"See, now we're getting warm," he murmured against her skin. Effortlessly, he lifted her from the ground and she wrapped her legs around him, squeezing his hips between her thighs. She shoved her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

He staggered forward a few steps to the car and sat her on the passenger window, freeing his hands so he could touch her. The belt molding of the car window was digging into her thighs, but she didn't care because Logan was doing incredible things with his tongue. The man definitely knew how to kiss.

His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she arched into his touch, gripping the back of his neck to keep her balance. Logan nipped her bottom lip. "You are so sexy like this." Lowering his head, he sucked her nipple through her shirt. "This is what I want, Veronica. No games, or props, or other women- just you."

Dropping her legs from his waist, she slid off the car, and pushed him away. "We need to go home now." At his confused and wounded look, she smiled and patted the side of the convertible. "No backseat."

An answering smile from him and he kissed her nose. "Home it is then."


	8. Paint It Black

CHAPTER EIGHT

Last night was a reprieve from her troubling thoughts, but this morning they crowded back in with the soft beep of Logan's personal alarm clock. Through slitted eyes she watched him get ready for work, bouncing from bed with a smile and whistling in the shower. His relaxed and happy mood only made hers blacker.

She continued to feign sleep while he dressed in his black Brioni suit. It probably cost more than his coworkers made in a month- a fact that suddenly irritated her. "So you're okay with other women stripping just not your wife?"

Logan's hands stilled on his tie. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"You know those other women are somebody's wife or girlfriend or _daughter,_ but it's fine for you to go watch _them_ strip?"

"Not go" —he resumed knotting his tie— " _have_ gone. In the past. Prior to last night, it's been years since I was inside a strip club." Tilting her head, she pursed her lips and raised a skeptical eyebrow, making Logan grin. "I'm a highly evolved male who happens to be married to Veronica Mars and knows better than to visit such establishments."

She huffed, falling back on the pillows to stare at the ceiling. It was infuriating. _He_ was infuriating, refusing to rise to the bait and give her the argument she wanted. She sat up and tried again. "And if we weren't married, would you be sleeping with Pam?"

"But we _are_ , in fact, married." His non-answer grated. She opened her mouth to argue and he shook his head. "Stop spoiling for a fight, Veronica." Logan shrugged into his suit jacket, leaned over the bed and kissed her nose. "Breakfast?"

Veronica grunted in response, tossing back the covers and swinging her legs off the mattress. She winced as she stood, calf muscles clenching and her knees wobbled.

He put a steadying hand on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Guess I'm a little sore from yesterday." A smug smile crossed Logan's face and she batted his hand away. "I meant from the pole dancing."

Smirk firmly in place, he spread out his hands and shrugged. "If that's what you want to tell yourself, pumpkin."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed her way past him, heading for the bathroom. A hot, massaging shower would loosen her muscles, even if it did nothing for her mood. She'd just have to fake friendly and perky for today's dance lesson with Pam.

"Hey." Logan slipped an arm around her waist —palm flat against her belly— and pulled her to his chest, nuzzling her neck. "Want me to play hooky? I could join you in the shower and, uh, give you a good rub down."

Her lips twitched and she bit back a grin before turning in his arms. His eyes caressed her face and he dipped his head forward; a tender, soft smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. It was an unfair advantage. The sexiness and the charm and the depth of his feelings reflected in his warm gaze. It was easier just to surrender.

Veronica laid her head on his chest, inhaling the scent- woods and citrus and Logan. "It's a tempting offer."

"Perhaps a preview?" He ghosted his fingertips up her arms, making her shiver, and then gently started to rub her shoulders. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, increasing the pressure to knead the tight ball of muscle between her shoulder blades.

"Mmm," she sighed, closing her eyes.

The pleasant image of a steam shower for two evaporated beneath the sound of rattling coming from the baby monitors. Veronica's eyes snapped open.

"Time get up, Wabbit!"

Simultaneously, their heads whipped toward the nightstand. "She's talking to Cuddles, right?"

"I don't" —Logan's reply was interrupted by Bailey's whimpering cry— "think so."

"There goes our shower." Veronica thumped her forehead against his chest in frustration. "We were this close." She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger separated by a hair.

He squeezed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You shower and I'll go feed our little mischief-makers." His fingers brushed her cheek. "Think of me while you're in there." Lowering his lips to her ear, he whispered, "Or don't, but know this, I'll be thinking about you- naked and soapy and wet."

Veronica swallowed and he smirked before turning on his heel and leaving the room. She stared after him. Angry to turned on to frustrated in a span of seconds; it had to be a new record for her.

"Daddy!" Wyatt's voice boomed from the baby monitor. "Wabbit cwying."

"Gee, how did that happen?"

Their daughter's sweet and innocent, "Dunno," made Logan chuckle.

"You don't know, huh?" Silence followed his question and then Wyatt's giggling could be heard over a new round of crying from Bailey. It was the high-pitched, squealing laughter that only happened during tickle-time.

Smiling, Veronica shook her head at their antics and walked into the bathroom. It was still amazing to her. How the guarded, distrustful, and wary Logan Echolls was entirely different with their daughters. Very few people got to see the man who acted out bedtime stories and wore feather boas for fancy teas. The one who cried the first time he held a newborn Wyatt and who walked the floor for hours without complaint, cradling a colicky Bailey.

If he was Tyler's father, that tender, loving, and patient side would be another part of Logan she'd have to share with Pam.

Veronica reached for his hairbrush. Picking it up, she turned the handmade, expensive grooming brush between her fingers. While easy to collect, if there was no root attached to the shaft, hair wouldn't provide the DNA sample she wanted. Chances were slim that hair shed while brushing or showering would contain the needed follicles.

His toothbrush was a possibility. Veronica sighed. It would be easier if she could just ask him to open up and say _aah_. A buccal swab of the inside of his cheek, another swab from Tyler, and she could have the results in a few days.

Her eyes alighted on the garbage can.

Breastfeeding limited their birth control choices. Her regular pills contained estrogen, which was harmful to milk supply and, lucky her, progestin did the same thing so no mini-pill, IUD or Depo-Provera either. No baby number three meant condoms for Logan until Bailey was weaned.

Veronica sat on the toilet and tilted the wastebasket forward. The used condom from last night was right on top. Gnawing her bottom lip, she let go of the can, watching it rock backward and wobble into place.

Enough dawdling. She stripped off her tee shirt and turned on the shower. Logan might enjoy all aspects of fatherhood, but leaving him alone to feed two picky eaters when he needed to finish getting ready for work was unacceptable.

 _Unacceptable like taking your husband's used condom for a secret DNA test?_

It wouldn't have to be secret if he'd just volunteer to do it. She'd given him an opportunity to offer, but instead he'd spouted his new party line, _I trust Pam_. Granted, Veronica could _ask_ him outright —do this for me— and she'd probably get instant compliance, but she didn't think she should have to. Logan should just _know_.

She lathered up the loofah and washed. This was definitely not what Logan had in mind when he suggested she think of him in the shower - contemplating ethical dilemmas and moral questions pertaining to their marriage. Veronica rinsed the conditioner from her hair.

Tricking her father into a blood sample when she was seventeen was different. It was a quest to know something about _herself_ and in the end it didn't matter anyway. Biology alone didn't turn a man into a father and Keith was her dad, no matter the DNA. This time, she was trying to learn something about _Logan_ without his knowledge and the answer _did_ matter. Mattered enough that she suspected there would be no shredding the test results.

If accepting the unknown was the right decision then, what was the right choice now?

Turning off the water, she stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel, drying off on her walk to the bedroom. She donned a pair of spandex micro-shorts and a matching black sports bra for her pole dancing lesson with Pam. Gathering her wet hair into a ponytail, she went to relieve Logan of breakfast duty.

"Toffee?" Wyatt pointed to Logan's coffee mug.

"Okay, but eat another piece of your waffle first."

She picked up a quarter of her dry waffle, folded up the ends and bit the tip. Veronica grinned. In order to do away with maple syrup, Logan had convinced Wyatt that waffles were 'breakfast pizza' and only needed a little powdered sugar and fruit. Each time he made them, he put less sugar and more fruit and so far she was buying his ruse.

"Wabbit toffee?"

Logan shook his head. "She's too little for coffee."

Veronica checked the time on the wall clock —twenty minutes until he had to leave— and leaned on the doorjamb to watch daddy-daughter breakfast time. Adding Tyler to the mix would change things. Aside from the practical —custody schedules, child support, and giving up her office so Tyler would have a bedroom— there was the effect it would have on the girls. Bailey would be okay. She was too little to notice the shift, but Wyatt was another story.

"What are you going to do at the science center today?" Logan asked while adding strawberry slices to her next piece of waffle.

Wyatt's brow furrowed. Tilting her head, she sucked the tip of her finger while she considered his question. Her face brightened and she popped her finger loose. "Haf lunch Daddy!"

Chuckling, Logan leaned over to kiss her nose. "But what are you going to do _before_ I meet you for lunch? Play on the fire truck and build with the big blocks?"

She shrugged as if it didn't matter; she'd already remembered the most important part of her day- lunch with Logan.

Veronica frowned. How many changes were too many for Wyatt? Never mind the normal like learning to walk and potty-training, in her short years she'd had to deal with deployment, becoming a big sister, Logan's return to work, and an attempt on her life. Dr. Feelgood said she was well-adjusted, intelligent, and happy, but would the addition of Tyler to their family prove too much for Wyatt?

Logan tossed a burp cloth over his shoulder. Setting down the empty baby bottle, he put Bailey on his chest and started to rub her back. After a few seconds of patting, he was rewarded with a loud burp, which made Wyatt giggle.

Veronica tracked his movement as he put Bay in the baby carrier and stood, but instead of following him across the kitchen, her gaze landed on the empty baby bottle. It then moved to the unopened package of glass bottles on the counter and to the sterilizer.

"Hey, how was your show… what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Veronica faked a bright smile. "You know, Rabbit's not the only one who's too little for coffee."

"Too late- you've already stunted your growth." He leaned a hip against the counter; an appreciative smile accompanying his slow perusal of her body. "Not that I'm complaining."

She rolled her eyes and nodded toward Wyatt. Logan mouthed the word _'milk'_ before turning to the espresso machine. He started the steam wand and immersed it in a small pitcher of milk. Once it was done, he poured cold milk into a coffee mug and then topped it with a trace amount of the steamed version.

"Here's your coffee, Jellybean; just the way Mommy likes it." He smirked at Veronica. "A lot of milk and very little coffee."

Wyatt eyed the cup. "Hot?" Logan shook his head and she picked up the mug, cradling it between her palms. She took a sip, lowered the mug, and smiled beneath her frothy milk mustache. "Good toffee."

Milk sloshed over the rim as she thumped the cup down on the table and picked up another piece of waffle. Veronica kissed the top of her head. "I love you, sweet pea."

"Love Mama." She raised her face to see Veronica and then pointed at Logan. "Kiss kiss fish."

Apparently Wyatt didn't want a repeat of yesterday's breakfast. There was going to be no fighting between Mommy and Daddy on her watch. Sometimes their daughter was too clever for her own good. Veronica followed instructions, leaning over to give Logan a kiss. He took advantage of the opportunity, cupping her ass and deepening the kiss.

When they broke apart, Veronica nipped his bottom lip. "How much did you pay her for that assist?"

"A lifetime supply of chocolate chip" —he lowered his voice to a whisper— "cookies, but it was totally worth it."

"Sucker." She moved away from him. "I would have done more than kiss you if you'd offered _me_ a lifetime supply of say… ice cream."

Logan smiled. "Wasn't that already in our wedding vows? Something like, I promise to love, honor, and allow my wife to eat all the ice cream in the house, including mine?"

"Glad you were paying attention." She filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. Opening the package of glass baby bottles, she took them apart, first unscrewing the collars and then popping out the sealing disks and nipples.

"I thought you were going to return those?"

"Changed my mind; the Mimijumi's are expensive." Veronica thoroughly washed everything with warm, soapy water, rinsed all the pieces, and then put them in the pot to boil.

While she worked, Logan continued his breakfast conversation with Wyatt, but each time Veronica glanced over to them, she found Logan watching her. It was disconcerting. The small fold between his eyebrows and his thoughtful stare solving her like a puzzle.

He drained his mug and got up from the table. "It's off to work with me." Squatting next to Wyatt's chair, he gave her a hug and a kiss. "Be good for Nana Dot and I'll see you at lunch."

"Okay, Daddy." She squished his cheeks between her palms and kissed his nose. "Be good work."

Standing, he briefly rested his hand on Wyatt's head and then leaned over to kiss Bailey who grinned and gurgled at him. "And whatever you're up to" —he crossed the room to stand behind Veronica— "don't get caught."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Logan kissed her shoulder, reaching past her to put his mug in the sink. "That's what scares me."

From the corner of her eye, Veronica watched as he tossed the burp cloth on the counter and re-donned his suit jacket; not fully relaxing until she heard the beep of the alarm and the quiet thud of the front door shutting behind him.

The oven timer dinged, pulling her back to the tasks at hand. She turned off the burner beneath the now sterilized bottles. "Ready to get dressed sweet pea?"

"Wabbit too?"

"No, I thought we'd leave her in here to clean the kitchen." Confusion etched itself across her tiny features and Veronica smiled. "Yes, Bailey too." Wyatt nodded, climbing from her booster chair and starting for the hall. "Plate," Veronica reminded.

"Me 'get." She skipped back to the table and grabbed her plate one-handed, sending strawberry slices cascading to the floor. Crouching next to them, she dropped the plate, and ate the berries from the floor.

"You shouldn't eat—" Wyatt looked up, waiting for her to finish, and popped the final piece of strawberry in her mouth. Veronica shook her head. "Never mind." She scooped the plate off the floor and picked up Bailey.

It was easier to get Wyatt dressed when she limited her options. Distracting her with a request to get a diaper for Bailey, Veronica used the time to place two outfits on her bed. When Wyatt returned with the diaper, Veronica pointed to the clothes. "Which one do you want to wear?"

She picked the black leggings and the black shirt printed with pink bows and a pink ruffled hem. Veronica helped her get ready and then tied her pink sneakers. "Now let's get Rabbit dressed."

Wyatt frowned at her. "No done, Mama." She slid off the bed and went right to her dress up trunk. Her upper body disappeared into its depths and out flew tutus, tiaras, and boas. Each item tossed on the floor in search of the perfect accessories for the science center.

Acknowledging her defeat in the clothing battle, Veronica left her to it. She dressed Bailey in one of Wyatt's hand-me-downs —a pale yellow romper with tiny bumble bees and matching socks— and returned to the kitchen. She put the baby in the Pop N' Play for some tummy time.

Dottie would be here soon. There were questions Veronica wanted to ask her. Unfortunately, Dottie was wise to the ways of the Mars family and a regular fact-finding mission wouldn't work. This called for special tactics.

Using the tongs from the steam sterilizer, she lifted the glass bottles from the pot of cooling water and set them on the drying rack.

"Done, Mama," Wyatt announced on her return to the kitchen. She'd accessorized her outfit with a white lab coat, neon green safety goggles, a purple doctor's Gladstone bag, and a black sparkly boa.

Veronica grinned. "You are a very fancy scientist." She tapped the medical bag. "Do you have all your supplies?" Wyatt pulled open the bag. It was an eclectic assortment. Veronica spotted one glove, a plastic beaker, sunglasses, and a tiara. "Looks like you're prepared for everything- good job."

"Fank you." Wyatt snapped the bag closed in time with the doorbell.

Veronica started for the front hall. "Do you want to bring your camera with you?" Wyatt's head bobbed up and down. "It's in the top drawer of my desk." Aside from the kid-friendly yellow Nikon, there were also legal pads, pens, and markers in that drawer. It would be enough to entertain her while Veronica pumped Dottie for information.

"Good morning," Dottie was balancing four medium-sized pumpkins in her arms. They wobbled as she entered the house. To prevent a squashed squash, Veronica took the top two, lightening the load. "I thought the kids and I could make jack-o-lanterns after naptime."

Four pumpkins. Dottie, Wyatt, Bailey… _Tyler_. Veronica frowned at the orange gourds in her hand. "We should put them away before Wyatt sees them or you'll never make it to the science center." Opening the bench of the hall tree with her foot, she tucked the pumpkins inside, and reached for the ones Dottie was still holding.

The inclusion of Tyler in her afternoon plans made this easier for Veronica. Staring at the closed lid of the hall tree, she sighed, schooling her features into a sorrowful mask. Dottie was immune to her prying, but she'd volunteer advice _and_ information if she thought it would be comforting.

"Tyler isn't here yet." Without losing the pained expression, Veronica pushed back her shoulders and gave Dottie a half-hearted smile. "But I'm sure he'll love" —she waved at the bench— "making jack-o-lanterns."

Dottie focused on her face and slowly nodded. "But probably not as much as he loved swimming with Logan, yes?"

There was no need to fake the slight wince caused by her question. Dottie was good. She'd cut right to the heart of the problem with one sentence. Veronica shrugged. Holding out her open hands, she moved them up and down in a measuring gesture. "Cannonballs and pumpkin carving might rate the same for a five-year-old boy."

"In my experience, anything that's loud and messy with a high potential for injury and massive destruction is usually a good thing." It was said with a fond smile.

"I'm confused- are we talking about five-year-old boys or grown men?"

Dottie laughed. "Both." She followed Veronica into the kitchen. "Where's Wyatt?"

"Getting her camera." Taking two mugs from the overhead cabinet, she held one aloft —a silent offer of coffee— and Dottie nodded acceptance. Veronica fixed a regular cup and then a decaf for herself. "Was she okay yesterday after I left? With Tyler, I mean?"

"She was fine." Dottie took a sip of coffee and studied Veronica over the mug's rim. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"It wasn't a good morning." She joined Dottie at the table. "Pam's arrival has upset her routine; so while Logan's happy, Wyatt has been a little anxious."

"And you? How are you feeling about it?"

"Not as happy as Logan." Veronica put down her mug, glanced at Dottie, and then turned her head to check on Bailey. The baby's hands were tight balls, pushing against the floor of the playpen in an effort to lift herself. "He thinks I'm jealous."

"But you're not?"

 _Not in the conventional sense_. Veronica shook her head. It was easy to talk to Dottie. Too easy. Part of her wanted to confide her fear about Tyler's parentage and her worries about Logan, the girls, their marriage, but she couldn't. Dottie, Jake —the entire Brennan family— belonged to Logan. They were his support system- not hers.

Cupping her hands around the coffee mug, she brought it to her lips. "Back when they were dating, did Logan bring Pam to your house a lot?" She took a sip, waiting for Dottie's answer.

Even with a reread of his journal, Veronica wouldn't be able to come up with an exact count. Logan didn't write every day and there were events he left out. To other people there would be no rhyme or reason to the entries in his journal, but Veronica understood their progress because she understood Logan. The only times Veronica knew for sure that Pam and Dottie would have interacted were OCS graduation and his winging ceremony.

Dottie sidestepped the question by saying, "Logan and Pam didn't date. Their relationship was…" Her brow furrowed; one finger tapping the side of her mug while she considered the rest of her answer. "They were two lost kids who found some stability in their relationship. Pam helped Logan through some difficult times and he helped her. They weren't… a couple."

The hesitation was slight, but it caught Veronica's attention. Was Dottie going to reiterate that they weren't dating or was she going to say they weren't in love and changed her mind, landing on the word couple instead? "Maybe not an official couple, but they were in love, right?"

Dottie started to shake her head and then stopped. "I really can't say, but whatever the relationship, I don't think Logan's feelings equaled Pam's."

That assessment lined up with what Veronica suspected, but she could be wrong. Believing what she wanted, rather than having to contend with the possibility that her husband still loved another woman. She'd asked him point blank this morning if they weren't married would he be sleeping with Pam and he hadn't answered. Maybe because the answer would be yes?

"When was the last time you saw Pam?"

Dottie's eyes clouded. "It was probably at Tommy's funeral."

Tommy Brennan, Dottie's husband, died almost six years ago. His funeral was only a couple of months before Pam would have gotten pregnant with Tyler. It added to the timeline Veronica was constructing, but it didn't eliminate Logan from being Tyler's father. "Were they together? Or was Logan dating someone else?"

The only time Pam and Logan didn't sleep together during their intermittent relationship was when one or both were dating someone else. Logan didn't start seeing Carrie until the following summer, which meant he was free to sleep with Pam from the time of Tommy's funeral in December until Tyler's conception.

"He may have been? I don't remember. Jake might know." She leveled Veronica with a steady gaze. "Or you could just ask Logan."

Her look more than her tone —and her tone was very firm— said she'd cottoned on to Veronica's interrogation technique and that the questioning was over. "I should go see what's taking Wyatt so long to find that camera."

Getting up from the table, she put her mug in the sink and retrieved a brown paper lunch bag from the pantry. She took one of the glass baby bottles from the drying rack along with its collar and sealing disc and went to check on Wyatt.

The entire drawer was pulled from the desk and lying on its side. All the legal pads were spread across the floor. Pens and markers everywhere. In the midst of the mess, Wyatt was on her tummy, coloring. "Whatcha doin' sweet pea?"

Without a pause in her scribbling, she said: "Work Daddy."

"You're working like Daddy?" Wyatt nodded. "Do you want to take a coffee break and go see Nana Dot?"

Instead of answering, she tossed down the marker, scrambled to her feet, and started skipping from the room. "Don't forget your camera," Veronica reminded and Wyatt rushed back to scoop up the CoolPix before disappearing from view.

Trusting that she was indeed going to have a coffee break with Nana Dot, Veronica surveyed the mess, and decided that it could wait. Carrying the baby bottle into her bedroom, she skirted the bed and went directly for the bathroom. More precisely, the bathroom garbage.

Locating a pair of rubber gloves from beneath the sink, Veronica put them on and lifted the condom from the trash. She slid the Durex extra large condom into the glass, keeping it upright, and then affixed it to the top of the bottle. After screwing on the collar, she placed the bottle in the paper bag.

Now all she needed was a sample from Tyler and maybe even from Pam. Including the biological mother in DNA paternity testing would almost guarantee a conclusive result and Veronica didn't want any room for doubt. Returning to the kitchen, she put the paper bag in the freezer.


	9. Hazy Shade of Winter

CHAPTER NINE

Pam didn't bring Tyler with her. When Veronica had asked where he was, Pam said she'd left him with Dick. " _As in Casablancas?_ _You are aware that Dick is just an overgrown child himself, right? And not actually capable of being the adult supervision_."

Laughing, Pam had waved off Veronica's incredulity, saying, " _It's only for a couple of hours_."

A couple of _minutes_ sounded like too long to leave Dick in charge of a _hamster_ never mind a child. Veronica had balked, suggesting that Dottie pick up Tyler on her way to the science center. Pam had reluctantly agreed with, _"If it's not too much trouble._ "

That was an hour ago and Veronica still wasn't sure why she'd pushed so hard to include Tyler in today's activities. He wasn't her son and if Pam was comfortable with Dick as babysitter what did it matter? Wyatt had to share Logan yesterday for pool time and now, thanks to Veronica's meddling, she would have to share him with Tyler at lunch.

Her emotions were giving her whiplash.

"Ready to try your routine?" Pam's hand hovered over the boombox, waiting for her answer.

They'd stretched to work the kinks out of Veronica's sore muscles. Ran through all the strength-building exercises. Practiced the few pole tricks she'd learned yesterday. And now Veronica needed a break. She shook her head. "Let's talk about the party in the VIP room."

Pam's hand dropped to her hip. Arms akimbo and wariness in her eyes, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

Veronica didn't trust her and apparently the feeling was mutual. It shouldn't be surprising. There was no reason for them to trust each other. They were two strangers forced into this uneasy relationship through their connection to Logan. Getting Pam to release her secrets was going to take time. Time they didn't have. If Veronica was going to solve this case, she needed information.

She lobbed a softball. "Tell me about the layout of the room."

Nodding, Pam's shoulders relaxed and her eyes cleared. "I think it used to be the master suite, but they took out the walls for the walk-in-closet to make a stage." Her gaze flicked over the garage. "It might be easier if I drew a diagram?"

"I could use some water," Veronica said, walking toward the connecting door. Pam followed her from the garage through the mud room and across the living room to the kitchen. She waved toward the refrigerator. "There are two bottles on the top shelf, help yourself."

While pretending to rummage through the drawers for paper, Veronica watched her grab the intended bottles of water and carry them to the table. Pam left one untouched for Veronica and pressed the other to her forehead before opening it.

 _Epithelial cells and saliva_.

Veronica smiled and retrieved a yellow legal pad and pen from the drawer by the phone. She took the chair next to Pam and slid the pad across the table. "The club used to be a private residence?" Veronica prompted.

"It's a beachfront mansion." Pam shook her head. "I should've known something was wrong the minute I saw it. I mean how many strip clubs do you know operate out of a _mansion_ with ocean views?" She gulped down more water and then picked up the pen. "What do they say? If it looks too good to be true, it probably is?"

Veronica remained silent, sipping her water and watching Pam draw. The mansion might have been enough to make Veronica suspicious, but maybe not. This was Neptune. It wasn't exactly shocking for the rich to want a better class of strip club. It was probably furnished by an interior designer and contained original art. Next month in _Architectural Digest_ \- Gentlemen's Clubs of the Rich and Famous.

"There are two curving staircases from the main floor." Pam indicated the two half circles in the center of her drawing. "When you get to the second floor, this area is a lounge with sofas. There's a railing here" —she pointed to a space across from the stairs at the back of the house— "where you can look down into the ballroom. That's where the main stage is on the first floor."

"So you can be in the upstairs lounge and still see the girls dancing downstairs?"

Pam nodded. "There are double doors here and here - his and hers master suites." She drew more boxes. "These are the two front rooms; they used to be four bedrooms, but they took down the walls to make them bigger."

Veronica studied the crude floor plan. "Which room were you in?"

She tapped the paper. "Joey named all the VIP rooms after expensive champagne; he thought it sounded classy." She rolled her eyes. "No one uses the names except the dancers and only when they're making fun of Joey behind his back." After numbering the rooms —1,2,3,4 in a clockwise circle— she wrote their "names" beneath the numbers. "We were in VIP one - Cliquot."

The other three rooms were Krug, Pierre-Jouet, and Cristal. Veronica shook her head. "What, no Dom?"

Pam laughed. "I don't think Joey can pronounce Perignon." Flipping to the next page on the pad, she drew a large square. "Here are the double doors from the lounge. The stage is along this wall and this is the door to the en suite bathroom. On this wall is a set of French doors, which leads to an outside balcony."

"The balcony overlooks the beach?" Pam answered with a nod. "Is there an outside staircase?"

Another nod. "That's how you enter the VIP rooms without going through the main club; the three guys selling the coke came in that way."

Two points of egress. The thief could have hidden the stolen money in any of the rooms upstairs, including the lounge. Or, he could have dropped the cash and drugs over the side of the balcony to a waiting accomplice. "I need to track everyone's movements- who got there first?"

"Me?" Bowing her head, she stared at the room drawing for a minute, and then nodded. "I was there first. I set up the stage and the bar."

"The bar? I thought there was no alcohol served upstairs?"

"There isn't -for regular customers, but the upstairs was closed to the public." She added a long rectangle to her floor plan. "The caterers were setting up the food on the credenza" —Pam tapped the shape she'd just drawn— "While I stocked the bar cart, changed the water in the cooler, and set out the props for the dancers."

It was clear the club was skirting the law and operating under its own rules. Maybe downstairs was a regular strip club, but upstairs was another story. "Props for the dancers?"

Pam pretended not to hear her. "Sam showed up as the caterers were leaving; he had Frick and Frack with him. He told me he wanted the girls to serve drinks and food —basically to stay out of the way until their business meeting was over— and then we could start… the entertainment." Her mouth twisted on the word.

At some point Pam's reluctance to share was going to be a problem. Initially Veronica had thought she didn't want to talk about what happened in the VIP room in front of Logan. But he wasn't here and she was still reticent. Maybe Logan would have better luck talking to her when Veronica wasn't around. "Who arrived next?"

"The girls. They got the same instructions from Sam —look pretty and don't talk— and then the guys arrived with the coke."

"How did that go down?"

A blank stare like she didn't understand the question and then she said, "They gave their sales pitch, bragging about the high-quality of their product, and then gave Sam the keys. He sampled it and turned over the money." She shrugged; her attitude the same as if she was describing a purchase of milk.

"Then what happened?"

"The dealers brought an extra ounce as a party favor and they did a few rails, offered it to the girls." There was a slight backward tilt to her head and she jutted out her chin, daring Veronica to judge the dancer's cocaine use.

Veronica ignored the challenge. For now. "Where was the cash and coke?"

Her lips pursed in thought. "The briefcases were on the floor next to the couch."

"Did anyone leave the room? Go outside for a smoke? Maybe go downstairs to the main floor?"

Pam was shaking her head through the entire line of questioning. "There were bouncers stationed outside the doors- no one in or out. There's also a bouncer at the bottom of both staircases."

That nixed the idea of hiding the money and drugs somewhere else in the club. Ditto the idea of the balcony drop. "What about the bathroom?"

"Sure, but I can't tell you who and when."

"Windows?" Veronica asked hopefully. Maybe the thief couldn't toss his ill-gotten gains off the balcony, but that didn't rule out an accomplice. She moved the imaginary partner from the beach to the parking lot beneath the bathroom. Wrap the cash and coke in a towel and chuck it from the window.

"I know what you're thinking, but no, there are no windows." She started to stand, reaching for the empty water bottle.

Veronica lifted the legal pad and held it out, distracting her. "Will you take this out to the garage for me? I want you to sketch out the first floor of the club and fill in as many details as possible." Veronica smiled. "And maybe take a few notes for me while I practice my pike spin?"

She still had questions about the "entertainment" for the party and if there was any point where someone would have enough time to steal the briefcases unobserved. Plus she wanted to know how the theft was discovered. But preventing Pam from throwing out her water bottle was the priority. Veronica had spent the time readying the bottles —washing away any stray prints and foreign DNA before strategically placing them in the fridge— and she didn't want the effort wasted.

"Okay." Pam took the pad and the pen. "Have you picked a song yet?"

With a nod, she said, "It's already in the CD player- track two." Pam took a few steps toward the doorway and then paused, turning back to wait for Veronica, who waved her on. "I'll be out in a minute; I want to get the costumes I bought so you can give me your opinion."

The excuse was enough to get Pam moving again. Veronica tracked her progress through the living room. When she was sure Pam wouldn't be coming back, she got another lunch bag from the pantry. With the bottle tongs she picked up Pam's empty water bottle and dropped it in the paper bag. She put it in the freezer next to Logan's sample.

Grabbing the BMW keys, she went to the car to collect the bags from Wicked Venus. Instead of walking through the house, Veronica used the opener to activate the roll-up garage door. Pam was sitting on Logan's workout bench —pad balanced on her knees— presumably drawing the layout of the club's first floor.

Veronica dumped the bags and hit the button to retract the garage door. The neighbors didn't need a free pole dance. "I stayed away from actual costume, costumes- so no naughty nurse or sexy sheriff."

"That's good because it's not that kind of club," she replied without looking up from her lap. "Did you buy shoes?"

As an answer, Veronica lined up the four pairs of shoes —strappy platforms with metal studs, black patent-leather with an ankle strap, clear acrylic with a stiletto heel, and a slide heel encrusted with rhinestones— then she pulled out the knee-high, lace up boots. They all had six inch heels and looked extremely painful. Veronica winced. _What was I thinking?_

Pam barely glanced at them. "Do you want to try your routine with your shoes?"

"Uh, maybe I should learn it first before increasing the difficulty level to neck-breaking."

A smile crossed Pam's face as she raised her head; her grin widening when she actually looked at the shoes. "Good plan."

Veronica ran through the routine without music. The beginning was easy - sexy strut around the pole, body rolls, pike spin, slither down the pole, and slut drop. The tricks were harder. She climbed the pole, did an aerial invert, and undulated her body down the pole. Tucking her head, she slid the last few inches until her back was pressed to the floor. She curled a leg around the pole, lifting her body into a kneeling position.

Pam had stressed the importance of transitions. _You need to dance, not move awkwardly from one trick to the next- be seductive_. None of this felt seductive or sexy. Veronica feared she was too stilted and self-conscious. Trying to dance for Pam was making her edgy. She needed to stop over-thinking the moves. To distract herself, she asked, "When did they discover the briefcases were missing?"

"The briefcases didn't go missing." Pam lowered the mini-dress she was holding. "You should wear this for your audition with Joey." Skin-tight and sheer, the halter-neck dress was shot through with silvery threads that made it shimmer. It was also completely see-through. Pam picked up a black G-string and the shoes with the metal studs. "Did you get any pasties?"

Veronica pointed toward the smaller bag and Pam selected a set of silver, glitter hearts. Outfit complete, she set it aside, and started sorting through the rest of the clothes. There was no way Veronica could leave the house wearing that ensemble - Logan would have a stroke. She'd have to cover it up with her black trench coat. "If the briefcases didn't go missing, how did they discover the theft?"

"The party coke was gone." Pam tossed a red, crochet-net skirt on the acrylic heels and added a matching red G-string. "Sam was going to refresh the supply from one of the kilos he'd just bought. When he opened the case and it was empty - all hell broke loose. He started accusing the dealers of stealing from him."

Veronica executed a perfect side climb, extended her leg, and turned her body into the pole before arching her back. Her legs started to wobble, body slipping on the slick metal. Clutching the pole with both hands, she dropped her feet to the floor to stop her inevitable fall. "I don't know if I'm going to be ready by Friday."

"You just need more practice." Pam brushed her fingers over the bruise forming on the inside of Veronica's knee. "Tattoo concealer will hide these."

She nodded. "Is that when they opened the case with the cash?"

"Yeah, the dealers said they didn't steal anything and opened the other briefcase. It was the only place they could have hidden the missing kilos and they were trying to prove their innocence, but that case was empty too. That's when they turned on us."

Six angry, ripped-off crime lords versus five scantily-clad strippers. Veronica was glad she wasn't present for that scene. "Did they search you and your stuff?"

"We were naked, Veronica —not a lot of places to hide five kilos of coke and a hundred grand— and we weren't allowed to bring bags into the room. That's why I needed to set up the stage before the meeting." She sat on the bench. "They tore the room apart, ripping open the cushions on the sofa, moving furniture, tearing pillows, cutting the seams on the mattress and box spring. It was like the stuff had just disappeared."

Even dejected and worn-out, with worry lines and dark circles under her eyes, Pam was still beautiful. It was more than the flawless skin and the fantastic body. She was alluring. Everything about her screamed sexy. If they weren't married, Logan would _definitely_ be sleeping with her. Veronica shook her head. _Enough of that_. "I'm ready to call it - no more rehearsing for me." Grabbing a towel from the floor, she wiped down the pole and her body.

Pam stood. "Guess I'll spring Dick from house arrest and return his car."

"Dick will have to suffer through his own company a little longer. We need to fix up your fake hideout and the kids will be back soon; Dottie's going to let them carve jack-o-lanterns. You don't want to miss that."

What was wrong with her? Why did she keep inviting Pam and Tyler to do things with her family? If Pam stayed through naptime and pumpkin carving, she would be here when Logan got home from work. That in turn would mean inviting them for dinner and who knew what else - an extended family sleepover?

"My fake hideout?" Pam asked.

"I parked your jeep in the driveway of a vacant house down the street and we need to make it look a little more lived in." Veronica patted the handle of the lawn mower. "Can you load this into Dick's Hummer?"

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the mud room, and the set of spare curtains and rods on its shelves - leftovers from the conversion of the guest room to her office. She picked up one of the discarded lamps, a package of lightbulbs, the toolbox, and a light timer. Logan had taken one look at the cheap plastic timer and promptly installed an entire security lighting system in the house; making it obsolete for them, but perfect for today's plan.

Moving into the living room, she collected the surveillance items she'd taken from Mars Investigations and dumped everything on the dining room table next to her messenger bag.

Her bag.

Veronica touched the closed side pocket. She hadn't thought about it all morning. Too busy with her machinations, but now it was calling to her. Loud and insistent - her very own tell-tale heart.

Avoiding the pocket, she retrieved the key to the vacant house and pulled out the file Mac gave her last night. It contained the information on the estate of —Veronica flipped open the cover— the late, Anne Sharp.

A quick scan of the contents confirmed that the Public Administrator's office wasn't even close to locating an heir. She checked the death certificate for Anne's age, closed the file, and shoved it back in her bag. Later, when she was alone, she'd take the time to read through everything Mac had found.

Leaving the dining room, she got a clothes basket from the laundry room, and then collected a set of sheets and some towels from the linen closet. She loaded the basket with everything she needed and joined Pam in the driveway.

Pam was leaning against Dick's black Hummer smoking a cigarette. When she spotted Veronica, she flicked the Marlboro toward the street. Veronica watched its progress, making note of where it landed. "I quit when I was pregnant with Ty, but these past few days…" She shrugged. "I brought the weed whacker and hedge clippers, too; I didn't know how much yard work you wanted to do."

"Just enough to make it look occupied." Veronica loaded the laundry basket in the backseat and climbed into the passenger side. "When we're done, I want you to take your Jeep and go to the store. Get some food, toilet paper, toothbrushes for you and Tyler, and cleaning supplies. Don't go anywhere near Dick's house. Just to the store and back - there's a tracker on your car."

She paled. "They were following me?"

Veronica nodded. "They've probably been tailing you since the beginning."

"So they knew we were at the motel." She banged her head on the steering wheel. "I thought I was being so careful." Turning her head, she stared at Veronica, eyes wide and panicked. "They know where Tyler's school is and the playground I take him to in the afternoons."

"That's why you're keeping him home, changing routines." Veronica touched her shoulder. "We're going to keep him safe, Pam."

Nodding, she took a deep, shaky breath and started the car. "Where am I going?"

"Make a left and go to the end of the street; it's the gray house on the corner."

The house looked even worse than she remembered. Granted, she'd been too busy fighting with Logan yesterday to give it much attention, but this was bad. It needed more than a little sprucing.

"It's cute," Pam announced as she pulled into the driveway behind her jeep. "Needs a little work, but it has potential."

The roof of the Craftsman-style bungalow was littered with debris and sagging in the middle. Balusters were missing from its porch railing. Paint was peeling from the shingles in large strips, making the entire house look like it was molting.

Veronica hopped from the car and got the laundry basket. "You start on the lawn and I'll go hang the curtains." There was no need to explain the surveillance equipment to Pam. She was already freaked out by the idea of Sam, his goons, and the drug dealers tailing her; she didn't have to know that Veronica _wanted_ them to be watching.

The condition of the interior was slightly better than outside. She went through the rooms —living, dining, kitchen, master, and bath on the first floor and two smaller bedrooms upstairs— opening the windows to air out the musty smell. Anything of value had already been removed, but it wasn't completely bare, which was good. There was a sofa and side table in the living room. A double bed in the master and a table, sans chairs, in the kitchen.

Veronica hung the curtains over the windows facing the street. Then she set up the lamp and timer on the side table, positioning it to illuminate the room from the road, but far enough from the windows to not give a peeper a good view inside. She adjusted the timer to turn on the lights at six-thirty and go off at eleven.

It could use more furniture. If anyone broke in for a search, they'd know it was a ruse. Veronica made a list. A bed for Tyler, chairs for the table, a dresser or two, and a television. She'd enlist Weevil and his truck for a trip to the thrift store. She put the set of sheets on the bed.

There was bleach under the bathroom sink. She swished it around the toilet and sink and did a quick clean of the tub. A stack of towels in the linen closet, one on the wall rack, and a folded hand towel on the sink counter was the best she could do right now.

Exiting the house, she locked the front door, and checked on Pam's progress. She was done mowing the small lawn and was working the weed whacker along the edge of the fence.

The porch light was low enough for Veronica to change out the bulb and she had no problem hanging the bird feeder on the crape myrtle, but the light over the garage would require a ladder or a Logan.

"Do you want me to do that?" Pam asked, coming to stand next to her. Wordlessly, Veronica handed her the bulb. Pam frowned at the odd light, but didn't comment. Reaching over Veronica's head, she installed the camera bulb, and then angled the fixture toward the drive. "So whose house is this anyway?"

"It belonged to my great aunt, Anne; she just passed away in June. I didn't even know she'd died until the Public Administrator's office contacted me- apparently, I'm her only heir." Veronica sighed. "It's so sad that she died alone, you know? Oh, I'm Amber by the way" —she held out her arm to shake Pam's hand— "Amber Sharp."

Pam stared at her, slack-jawed, and slowly lowered her arms. "Wow, I don't know if I should be scared or impressed."

"Funny, that's the same thing Logan always says to me." Veronica started for the front of the house. With the mowed lawn and trimmed hedges, it was a definite improvement. "This is your fake hideout and my cover story so when you introduce me at the club, I'm Amber Sharp."

"Do I tell them I'm staying with you?"

"No, we'll let them figure that out on their own, but we'll need a story for how you and I know each other." Veronica sat on the front stoop. Pam joined her and lit a cigarette. "The club in Reno with the dancer who taught you- is it still open?"

"Doubtful, it was a long time ago."

Veronica nodded. "Then we'll use that story; only you get to be the experienced dancer who took me under her wing and taught me everything she knows."

"Okay." She took a long pull from her cigarette, exhaling fat, lazy smoke rings. "Have you thought of a stage name?"

"Pixie."


	10. Everybody Hurts

CHAPTER TEN

After giving Pam instructions —take the jeep only to the supermarket, put the food away, and then walk back— Veronica handed her the key to the little gray Craftsman and drove away in Dick's Hummer. She drove the neighborhood in slow circles, ensuring she wasn't being followed, and approached her house from the other end of the block. Leaving the driveway clear for Dottie, she parked the car on the street. On her way inside, she picked up Pam's discarded cigarette butt.

Earlier in the mud room, she'd noticed one of Wyatt's old diaper bags. The kind with the cooler compartment. She pulled it from the shelves, packed it with dry ice, and transferred the DNA samples from freezer to bag. It was too risky to leave them here. Not only was Logan a natural-born snoop, he'd also picked up a few things from her, and the frozen lunch bags would not go unnoticed by him.

She took a quick shower and changed into a pair of yoga pants, t-shirt, and hoodie - relaxing with the BFF attire.

Dottie and the kids beat Pam home. Wyatt's shouted, "Mama," was followed by the slam of the front door and the frenetic beep of the alarm, warning of an impending siren.

Veronica raced through the house, scooping up Wyatt, and jabbing in the code to silence the alarm before it started to wail. "In a hurry much, sweet pea?" One of Wyatt's ponytails had slipped low on her head and the other was completely gone. A swath of hair cut a path across her forehead and the rest stood from her scalp, pointing in different directions. "How's my mad scientist? Did you have fun today?"

Her head bobbed. "Ball wall!"

"You must have had a good time—" She combed her fingers through Wyatt's hair, brushing it back, and kissing her head. "—I can tell by all the shouting."

Veronica pulled open the front door and a four foot, jean-clad blur rushed across the porch, barrelling into her legs. She reached for his arm to keep him from falling backward. "Whoa, where's the fire?"

Confusion clouded his face and he looked around, shrugging, as if to say _I don't know_. Veronica smiled. It was easy to forget how literal kids could be. "How was the science center?"

"Great! They had a tornado!" He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "And people made of Legos and I got to drive the firetruck." Tyler peered around her into the house. "Where's my mom?"

"She went to the store; she'll be back soon." Wyatt started squirming in her arms and Veronica put her down. The second her feet touched the floor, she pushed Tyler's shoulder and took off at a run. He instantly gave chase, whipping past Veronica and disappearing inside. "Should I be worried about that?"

Dottie shook her head. "They've been doing the same thing all morning." She joined her on the porch and gave her the baby. "Tyler tried to teach her tag, but Wyatt just wants him to be 'it' and chase her."

Veronica laughed. Being chased was Wyatt's favorite game, especially when it ended in tickle-time. Logan liked to quip that she was a runner just like her mother. Veronica's smile withered. "Did Logan meet you for lunch?"

"We ate in the park."

"Really?" She arched a brow. "Logan agreed to the park?"

"He did. I was hoping the kids would tire themselves out, but" —she waved at the doorway— "You see how well that worked. I think the only one who might be ready for a nap is me."

"I can help with naptime for two of them at least." Veronica snuggled the baby closer, kissing the top of her head, and followed Dottie into the house. "Does Tyler still take naps?"

"No, but he was good at being quiet yesterday while the girls slept. We read books and he played in the yard." Dottie emptied the diaper bag, rinsing out a used bottle, and restocking the Goldfish container with more crackers.

"Pam will be back soon; she'll be able to take care of Tyler." Veronica started to leave the room and paused. "You know, if watching the three of them is too much for you, we can make other arrangements."

 _Arrangements_. It sounded so permanent. The word was almost as disturbing as her use of the pronoun _we_. She was already incorporating Tyler into their family life, making plans for child care and thinking long-term.

"I don't mind watching Tyler for a few days." She smiled. "Having three of them is just like old times and, believe me, my three were worse."

Veronica raised a skeptical brow. "If you say so." Leaving the kitchen, she headed down the hall to collect Wyatt for naptime.

"You hafta wait 'till I'm done setting it up," Tyler complained, frustration making his voice rise.

"No," Wyatt shouted in response.

Veronica peered into the bedroom. They were playing with Wyatt's monster bowling set. Tyler was trying to stand up the pins, but he only managed to right three of them before Wy threw the plush bowling ball. It hit a pin, ricocheted off Tyler, and smacked into the wall.

"That's not how you play" —Ty picked up the ball— "Let me show you."

Wyatt stuck out her chin, eyes narrowing, and she folded her arms across her chest. Veronica immediately recognized the posture and stepped into the room. "You can show her later; I need her to help me put Rabbit down for a nap."

Wyatt turned, eyeing her suspiciously. "Me no nap."

Neither confirming nor denying, Veronica said, "We're going to lie down in the big bed." She'd once made the mistake of agreeing with Wyatt's no-nap-declaration and paid the price with a cranky toddler who fought sleep for hours. "Do you want to feed Rabbit while I read a story?"

Unconvinced, Wyatt chewed the tip of her finger. She glanced at her books and then back to Veronica, gauging her truthfulness. _Good luck with that, kid_. Finally, she gave a hesitant nod. "Okay, Mama."

Crossing her room, she picked up _Moo Baa La La La_ , and Veronica inwardly groaned. "What about the new book Daddy bought you?" She slid _Duck & Goose Find a Pumpkin_ from the nightstand, holding it out for Wyatt.

She took the new book without relinquishing her favorite and marched from the room, leaving Veronica with Tyler. "There are cookies in the kitchen," Veronica offered. He stared at the bowling ball in his hand. "Or you can play in here," she quickly added. "And there are movies in the living room."

"Is my mom back yet?"

"I don't think so." At her answer, Tyler turned his attention to the bowling pins. Veronica edged closer to the door. "But Dottie's still here if you need anything." When he didn't respond, she used the silence to make her getaway, slipping from the room.

Wyatt was jumping on the big bed, leaping into the air, and falling onto her bottom like the mattress was a trampoline. She was also rubbing her eyes and yawning. It didn't take long to get her settled on the bed, curled up next to Bailey for story time. But it did take two readings of _Moo Baa La La La_ —with _'do it like Daddy'_ critiques— and one reading of the new story before she fell asleep.

Veronica put Bailey in her bassinet and returned to the kitchen. Dottie and Pam were at the table drinking coffee. "—with a yard."

Dottie bent her head in the direction of the window. Tyler was on the cedar playset, diving head first into the tube slide. "He seems to really like it outside."

"How could you not love that thing?" Pam laughed. "I want to play on it myself."

"Me too," Veronica said, interrupting their conversation. "Did you get everything from the store?"

Pam nodded. "I picked up a set of dishes and a cheap set of pots and pans too. Oh, and some toys, which I left lying around, underfoot." All three of them shared knowing mom smiles. "Guess we should head home now." She stood, crossing to the sink to deposit her mug. "I'll bring some of our clothes over tomorrow to put in the house."

"I'll do it and I'll return Dick's car. You two should stay here; Logan can drive you home later." It would give him an opportunity to get Pam alone to ask some questions. Plus it would give her a chance to snoop through Pam's things. "You can give me a list."

"I have to work tonight."

"What time?" Veronica frowned. "And what are you going to do with Tyler?"

"My shift starts at eight. Normally, my neighbor watches Tyler; he sleeps at her house and I get him in the morning for breakfast and school." She stared out the window at her son. "I'm not sure going back to our apartment building is such a good idea."

It was a terrible idea. Tyler could be used as leverage against Pam. Following their usual schedule by bringing him to the neighbor's apartment was inviting trouble. "He can stay here tonight and Logan can take you to work."

"Are you sure?"

"There's a sofa bed in my office and there are clean sheets and blankets in the linen closet." She talked as she walked, leaving the room to clean up the mess Wyatt made with the markers and to make sure there was nothing on her desk about Pam's case. When she was satisfied that the contents of the space were benign, she collected both the messenger and diaper bag from the dining room table.

One quick goodbye later and she was in Dick's car without a destination. It was too soon to return the Hummer. She'd need Dick to drive her to Wallace's apartment and he wouldn't be home from school yet. Veronica drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. There were two pressing issues - finding Karen and identifying the three drug dealers. The former would be easier than the latter.

She pointed the car in the direction of Shenanigans. It was time for her to get a look at this club. The address from the website said it was north- before the Torrey Pines golf course and west of Hearst. Veronica navigated the back roads, keeping the ocean on her left.

If Karen was really staying with her mother in San Diego, a quick relative search on Accurint would turn up an address. Finding her wouldn't be the problem- it was _questioning_ her. Veronica couldn't introduce herself as a detective. All Karen would have to do is mention an investigator to one of her fellow dancers and Veronica's cover would be blown before she even stepped inside Shenanigans. Plus there was always the chance that Karen was the thief.

Veronica almost missed the turn. A narrow, winding road cut into the bluff. She made the sharp left. As the street climbed, she counted houses. There were three on the ocean side. At least she assumed they were houses. Built low and nestled in the cliff only their rooflines were visible. Roofs, and the security gates across their driveways. On the opposite side, she counted two houses. Both perched high on the craggy rock face with a multitude of windows and, what she could only assume, were sweeping views of the Scripps coastal reserve.

The road dead-ended in a wide cul-de-sac. In the center of the semicircle's arc was a wrought-iron driveway gate; it was hung between two stacked stone pillars. The house numbers on the right matched the address from the website and a discreet, laser-cut metal sign on the left pillar read, _Shenanigans_ , in script.

There was nothing else to see from the street. Sweetshade, cedar, and shoestring acacia trees lined the drive and blocked the house from view. But there were security cameras mounted at the gate, angled low enough to capture the driver's face when stopping at the intercom.

Veronica swung the Hummer in a tight circle, exiting the street the same way she came in.

She was wrong. Neptune or not, seeing that house would have made her Spidey-sense tingle. Pam _definitely_ should have suspected something was amiss. A commercial business tucked in an entirely residential neighborhood, surrounded by homes worth upwards of ten million dollars, and completely hidden from view.

This was not your standard strip club. Maybe they were taking their clothes off and dancing, but Veronica doubted the entertainment stopped there. _The rich and their playthings_. After seeing that house, the idea of Logan playing bouncer didn't seem so crazy. There was no way she wanted to be inside that mansion alone.

She tried seeing it from Pam's point of view. A single mother, working as a waitress to support her kid, gets offered a job stripping in a private, exclusive club. It was the plot of a bad Lifetime movie. The question really was, _why?_

Base pay for a blackjack dealer wasn't a lot of money, but when you factored in tips —especially at the high-roller tables— Pam could have been making close to sixty grand a year. If she switched to dealing poker and moved to the VIP rooms, her salary bump would be substantial. With her looks and personality, it was conceivable for Pam to bring home a low, six-figure payday. Why quit that to take a job waiting tables? Hopefully, there was something in Mac's files that would answer that question.

Veronica pulled the Hummer into Dick's driveway.

Liberated from a day of babysitting and housebound translated to Dick getting high and going surfing, she only hoped he wasn't too far gone to drive. Veronica circled the house to the beach side. He was lying on his back, surfboard propped in the sand next to him.

Flat land, clear sight, and no wind. That was how Parker described the day of the shooting at her competency hearing. Veronica hesitated near the deck. The conditions were the same today. She studied the open expanse between where she stood and Dick's location. Her gaze landed on the spot and she squeezed her eyes closed.

Forcing a laugh, she shook out her hands, stomped her feet, and jogged across the sand to Dick's side. Her approach wasn't quiet. Turning his head, he waited for her to get close, before saying, "Hey, Ronnie."

"Hey." She sat. "Must be nice to be rich and not have to work."

"You would know- you're richer than I am."

" _Logan's_ richer than you," she corrected.

Dick waved away the distinction as meaningless. "To what do I owe the honor? Are more people moving into Chez Dick without an invite?" His eyes were red and glassy.

They all had their own ghosts to carry, but hers didn't involve a kid brother who was a mass murderer and rapist, so she withheld comment on the excessive pot use, and added _call cab_ to her mental to-do list. "How's that going?"

"Kids cramp my style. Well, except for yours, little two perce— Wyatt, I mean Wyatt, is a great wingman, and the smaller one is like a chick magnet."

"The smaller one has a name and I find it hard to believe Logan lets you use our girls to lure in unsuspecting women."

"What use? We just go places and, bam, we're surrounded by ticking bio-clocks. It's low hanging fruit, Ronnie."

She shook her head. Less time spent with Uncle Richard might be beneficial for both the girls _and_ Logan. "I'm just here to return your car and pick up some things for Pam."

A worried frown creased his brow. "Is she leaving?"

 _Interesting_. "No, she's working tonight and we're going to watch Tyler." Relaxing, he resumed staring at the sky, arms folded beneath his head. Veronica waited until he was at ease before asking, "Did you and Pam spend much time together after Logan left Neptune?"

The question confused him. One eyebrow rising higher than the other, lips parting, and the corner of his mouth curling upward. It was an assumption on her part —that they wouldn't have been making pot brownies together while they were both actively trying to get Logan clean and sober— but maybe she was wrong. Veronica elaborated, "Logan said she taught you how to make cannabis oil?"

With a grin, he nodded. "She taught me how to make French toast and chicken soup, too. But we weren't best buds or anything. She wanted to make sure Logan was eating when she went back to Vegas." His smile disappeared. "You know, as part of his recovery."

More proof of Pam's feelings for Logan. Veronica averted her face and stared at the ocean. "So you haven't seen her in what… eleven years?"

"Nah, it hasn't been that long." Sitting, he bent his legs, and rested his forearms on his knees. "She visited me at culinary school and came to the opening of Breakers and whenever Logan was in town, we'd get together."

"Did that happen a lot?"

"Logan being in town or them getting together?"

She shrugged as if his answer didn't matter, but she wasn't sure it was convincing. Dick wasn't exactly brilliant, but he wasn't as dumb as he seemed either. He enjoyed playing the role of dim-witted loser and letting others dismiss him. Veronica changed the subject. "You ever hear of the club where she's working? Shenanigans?"

"Yeah, I've been there."

 _Of course_. "Nice place?"

"Top shelf liquor, good music, and the dancers are _hot._ " He shrugged. "But the private booths on the first floor are expensive and not worth it and you have to be a member to get upstairs."

"And you're not? A member, that is?"

"No need to sound so shocked, Ronnie." He shook his head. "I have better things to do with my free time." He gave her a lascivious wink. "You know, Uncle Dick likes to do more with women than just watch them dance, if you catch my drift."

"A sea otter could catch your drift and don't call yourself Uncle Dick - it's creepy." Veronica stood, wiping the sand from the back of her pants. "I'll leave your keys on the counter." Pulling out her phone, she scheduled an Uber, and started for the house.

Dick jumped up, following her inside. "You doin' okay?"

"Peachy." She scrolled through to the text message from Pam. The list was short. Pajamas and a change of clothes for Tyler, Pam's duffel bag for work, her toiletry case, and toothbrushes.

Veronica found Pam's work bag, putting it to the side, and hoisted their suitcases onto Tyler's bed. They'd packed a lot of stuff for their motel hideout. She sorted through the clothes, making a small pile to bring home, and a larger pile to leave at the decoy house. Toys and puzzles would stay here, but she took a few of Tyler's books, adding them to the pile with his pajamas.

She glanced at Dick who was hovering like a mother hen. "You don't need to keep me company; I know my way around." To demonstrate, she walked into the kitchen and found a few empty shopping bags in the pantry.

Dick hadn't taken the hint; he was still lounging in the doorway between the living room and sunporch. A look of concern on his face. "Pam and Logan, they—" Veronica waited, but Dick didn't seem inclined to finish his original sentence; instead he said, "You've got nothing to worry about Ronnie."

"I'm not worried, Dick; I'm in a hurry- my cab will be here soon." She thrust the shopping bags at him. "Make yourself useful and pack those two piles." Veronica picked up the diaper bag she'd brought with her. Tossing the words, "I need to pump," over her shoulder, she disappeared into the spare bathroom.

She turned on the breast pump so the noise would give credence to her lie. Slipping on one of the rubber gloves she'd packed, she lifted Tyler's toothbrush —a blue and green Oral B with Iron Man on the handle— and sealed it into one of the glass baby bottles. The bottle went in another paper bag and she placed it with the others in the cooler section of the diaper bag.

Veronica sat on the closed toilet seat lid and rested her head on the sink, biding her time until the cab arrived.

As soon as she questioned first Dottie and now Dick about Logan's relationship with Pam, they'd assumed she was worried, _romantically_. Even Mac, after seeing the article, went right to the assertion that Logan wouldn't cheat. Did they see something there to be worried about and were offering hollow reassurances? Or were they just expecting Veronica to act like her old self- jumping to conclusions while being jealous and possessive?

None of them asked about Tyler. Maybe they didn't want to voice the question - are you afraid that Logan is Tyler's father? And maybe the reassurances and the ' _you have nothing to worry about, Ronnie'_ sentiments weren't hollow, but well-meaning? As in, even if Logan _is_ Tyler's father, it won't change how he feels about you and the girls. Then again, exes didn't always show up with a secret love child —this wasn't _Days of Our Lives_ — and none of them had access to Logan's journal. Without reading it, there was no reason to be curious about Tyler's paternity because they wouldn't know how long or how often Logan slept with Pam. Or they could all just be bad at math.

Her phone chimed, alerting her to the arrival of the cab. She turned off the breast pump and grabbed Pam's toiletry bag. Dick was nowhere in sight. Veronica grabbed the two bags he packed, dropped his car keys on the counter, and let herself out.

The ride to Wallace's apartment was blissfully silent. Only after she shut down the chatty driver by pretending to sleep. The car jerked to a halt and her eyes snapped open. _Okay, maybe not pretending_. Veronica gathered her stuff.

Using her emergency key, she bypassed the security intercom and rode the elevator up to Wallace's apartment. It didn't take him long to respond to her knock. He was still dressed in his teacher's garb: wingtips, dress slacks, button-down shirt, and tie. "Hey buddy."

He eyed her bags. "Are you moving in?"

"You should be so lucky." Veronica brushed past him into the apartment. The door was centered between a kitchen on the left and a room on the right, optimistically labeled a 'study' on the building floor plans. Wallace had filled that space with his desk, computer, and coat rack. She dropped her bags at the foot of the rack. "I need a favor."

He leaned heavily on the now closed door. "Really? You hardly ever come to me out-of-the-blue and ask for weird favors without explanation."

"Who said it was weird?"

"You are Veronica, right? And not some other pushy, blonde detective?"

"Do you know more than one?" She poked around his desk drawer for a marker. "Hey, are you sidekick-cheating on me?"

"Who would have the time?" He waved at the open desk drawer. "Make yourself at home, by-the-way."

Ignoring him, she sat in his ergonomic, mesh-back chair, and started pulling out the lunch bags. She wrote NOT FOOD on each in large block letters. "I just need to store these bags in your freezer for a few days."

"Do I want to know what's in them?"

"Probably not." Crossing in front of him, she opened the freezer half of his side-by-side, and lined the bags in a row on a bottom shelf. "It's nothing illegal." At least not yet. Only eight states had laws against stealing someone's DNA and California wasn't one of them. "But just remember, _always_ ask to see the warrant before you let them search."

The second part of her favor —a ride home— she wasn't ready to ask for yet. She paused with her hand on the fridge. An open pilsner was on the breakfast bar, a bottle opener next to it. Beyond the counter, in the living room, papers were spread across the coffee table. Veronica got her own pilsner. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Grading papers."

She popped open the beer. "Mind if I hang out for a little while?" Without waiting for an answer, she got her messenger bag, and moved into the living room. She curled into her favorite corner of his sectional sofa. "We haven't done homework together in a long time."

Wallace picked up his own beer. "So am I going to get an explanation? Weird or otherwise?"

Ducking her head, she said, "My house is filled with children and I need some quiet time."

Veronica pulled a manilla folder and her cell phone from her messenger bag. The phone was to conduct a search for Karen and the folder was from Mac. It was the start of the background checks on the dancers. When she'd gotten home from the strip club last night, Mac had given her the file. Albeit reluctantly. She'd still seemed unconvinced that Veronica wasn't investigating Logan. Her hesitancy had made it impossible to just ask for the tabloid article.

With an exaggerated sigh, Wallace dropped himself onto the sofa next to her. He put down his beer, but didn't immediately resume grading papers. Instead he watched her. "New case?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured without looking up from the file.

The top sheet was a tax return transcript for Pam's friend, Reina. Under wages, salaries, and tips she'd reported an income of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars for last year. Veronica skimmed the list of numbers —interest, dividends, business income, capital gains— but her gaze kept wandering to the side pocket of her messenger bag.

Wallace had given up on her talking to him, his attention now focused on reading his student's paper. Shaking his head, he drew a red line through an entire paragraph, made a note in the margin, and topped the page with a big, fat C. "This kid thinks the main effect of tobacco use is that it makes you look cool."

"I blame Hollywood," she deadpanned and Wallace grinned.

"I should let him spend a day with my mom; she'd change his views right quick." He took another long pull from his beer and then picked up the next report.

Veronica waited until he was fully absorbed in his task and slipped the pilfered article from her bag, smoothing out its wrinkles. It hadn't required much thought. Mac had used the bathroom before heading home, leaving her laptop case alone and unprotected on the coffee table. An open invitation. It had taken Veronica less than a minute to filch the article and hide it in her messenger bag.

She stared at the old picture of Logan and Pam. It was taken almost a year after Veronica had left Neptune. In the photo, he was thinner than during their freshman year at Hearst, hollow-cheeked, almost gaunt, but still the Logan from her memory. Pam looked unchanged - ageless and beautiful.

The article was short:

 _Logan Echolls -son of actors Lynn Lester and, Academy Award winning, Aaron Echolls- was seen leaving a Los Angeles meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. A source close to Echolls confirmed that this meeting was mandatory following his near-fatal overdose of heroin and cocaine. This lethal combination of drugs, known as speedballing, is the same cocktail that killed legendary comedian, John Belushi._

 _Rumors of sketchy sexual behavior and rampant drug use have dogged Echolls for several months. He attended the NA meeting in the company of his current girlfriend, an exotic dancer from Las Vegas, Pam Mitchell. Friends say Mitchell is responsible for this current downward spiral; they are urging Echolls to end things with her and enter rehab._

Veronica read it twice.

 _A source close to Echolls_. She frowned. It wasn't the most accurate piece of reporting —Pam wasn't a stripper at this point in her life and she certainly wasn't responsible for Logan's drug use— but they'd gotten enough facts right to make Veronica wonder.

Logan despised the media. When one of the tabloids had recently published a picture of Wyatt and Bailey with the caption, _Aaron Echolls' Granddaughters_ , he'd gone apoplectic. He'd hunted down the photographer, made some serious threats to the man's health, and then told him to spread the word to his lowlife cronies - don't _ever_ take pictures of my kids or else.

If someone had betrayed his privacy by sharing the details of his drug use and overdose with the press, that someone would be gone from his life forever. Who knew the details? Pam and Dick, obviously. Veronica immediately dismissed Dick from contention- too loyal to his best friend. Pam? But why would she make herself out to be the bad guy of the story?

Of course it could have been someone at Narcotics Anonymous, but the likelihood that Logan had _shared_ during the meeting was about as realistic as the Easter Bunny having lunch with Santa Claus.

 _Sean Friedrich._

"Whoa, what or who has you so angry?" At Wallace's question, her head jerked up in surprise, and he explained, "You're practically snarling." He reached for the sheet she was clutching and Veronica moved it out of his reach.

Wallace frowned.

Logan had accused her of acting like _Hearst-Veronica_ and maybe he was right. Here she was avoiding her dad, stealing from Mac, and keeping secrets from her best friend. Relenting, she handed him the article and watched as he read.

When he was done, his gaze moved from the paper to the freezer and then to Veronica. "Are you afraid he's using again?"

"No," her response was swift and strong. "Logan wouldn't—" She shook her head. "It's Pam… she's… she's my new client."

One more glance at the article and then he handed it back to her. There was no automatic presumption of jealousy. No 'you-don't-need-to-worry' platitudes. Wallace just jumped right to the case by asking, "How did that happen?"

Veronica smiled. _And that's why he's my best friend_. "She's in trouble and wanted to borrow money from Logan." Leaving out any mention of Tyler or her plans to go undercover as a stripper, Veronica gave him the bare bones story of the drug and cash theft.

"Wow, you've actually stumbled on a problem that can't be solved with money- in Neptune no less." He placed his hand over his heart. "I'm shocked."

"Don't be. The rich of Neptune are still behaving badly. I drove past the strip club earlier and it's definitely seamy." She described the upscale neighborhood and hidden mansion and then told him about the 'members-only' upstairs.

"So what do you think goes on up there?"

Veronica shrugged. "It could be an elite sex club like the Killing Kittens parties that happen in New York and Chicago."

"Killing Kittens?" Wallace shook his head. "Rich people are weird." He drained his bottle of beer. Standing, he carried the empty into the kitchen and tossed it in the trash. "Do you need a refill," he asked with his hand on the fridge.

"No, and none for you either- I need you to drive me home." She folded the tabloid article, added it to the file of background checks, and shoved the folder back in her messenger bag. "And we need to stop at the drugstore on our way." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "I have to buy an Iron Man toothbrush."


	11. Looks Like Rain

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wallace didn't want to come inside. He offered his assistance with the case, told her to call him, and waved goodbye from the safe confines of his car.

"Chicken," Veronica muttered as she let herself into the house. There were no warning beeps from the alarm system and she frowned at the silent keypad. Dropping the bags on the hall tree, she re-locked the front door. Logan's deep chuckle, mingling with Pam's tinkling laughter, drew Veronica into the living room.

The four of them were seated around Wyatt's play table, eating hot dogs and drinking fake tea. They'd gotten "dressed" for dinner with boas and tiaras. Even Tyler was willing to play along with Wyatt's demands for fancy tea.

Veronica stopped short.

It was like a glimpse of Logan's life if she'd never come back to Neptune. Married to another woman with a house and kids. And a dog. He'd probably have a dog, if she didn't keep saying no.

Her chest constricted. No not Logan's life, _her_ life with someone else playing the role of wife and mother. She'd thought about all the ways Tyler might be included in their family, but she'd never considered the reverse. Logan taking Wyatt and Bailey to do things with _Pam_. The random trips to the museum or the beach while Veronica was working could now include Pam and Tyler. Happy family outings without Veronica.

"Please tell me you wear an apron." Pam's breathy delivery of the line and her hand on Logan's arm called to mind the silver screen. A classic black-and-white film with the voluptuous heroine seducing her leading man into doing a very bad thing.

"You didn't turn on the alarm," Veronica ground through clenched teeth.

Logan shifted in the tiny green chair, craning his neck to see her. "We were—"

"Mama!" Wyatt smacked her cup down on the table and grinned, interrupting whatever Logan was about to say. Her daughter's happiness at her arrival was infectious and an answering smile spread across Veronica's face.

"Hey, sweet pea." Circling the table, she kissed the top of Wyatt's head. "What's for dinner?" Hot dogs with a side of macaroni and cheese were on paper plates. Tiny pieces of cauliflower were mixed in the macaroni, hiding beneath the cheese, and there were bacon crumbles scattered throughout.

"Tyler picked tonight's menu; it's his favorite." With a smile, Pam lightly touched her son's head. "There's more in the kitchen for you."

 _Thanks for inviting me to eat in my own house, Pam_.

Wyatt picked up her hot dog, squeezing it in her fist, and wiggled it in the air. "Me cook!" She bit the end of the frankfurter and then held it out for Veronica to have some.

"Oh you did, huh?" Instead of taking a bite, she kissed Wyatt's fingers. "Well, I guess I'd better go eat then." Wyatt nodded in agreement and Veronica beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

There were pots on the stove and dishes in the sink. The cheese grater was on the counter next to blocks of cheddar and fontina. Veronica peeked in the oven. A baking dish with the remains of the mac and cheese sat on the middle rack, strips of bacon across the top. She stole a piece and leaned against the warm stove, chewing the bacon and surveying the mess.

Logan and Pam had cooked dinner with the kids. Imagining the domestic scene turned the bacon to ash on her tongue. She tossed the uneaten half in the trash.

"Veronica Mars throwing away bacon?" Logan crossed the room and put a hand on her forehead. "Are you sick?"

She didn't want to tease and flirt with him. She didn't even want to engage in the snarky sarcasm they called foreplay. Edging out of his reach, she asked, "Where's Bailey?"

"Asleep in the laundry room."

Already in motion as she asked the question, she was gone by the time he finished answering, moving down the hall to check on the baby.

It was a trick Logan learned with Wyatt, putting her to sleep with the soothing white noise of the dryer. He would push the pack n' play tight against the front of the machines and the wash cycle would make the crib shake. But unlike her sister, Bailey needed more sound and motion. To compensate, Logan had the exhaust fan running, and he'd turned on the vibration unit attached to the crib. An entire parade could pass by the door and Bailey wouldn't hear it above the din in the laundry room.

Veronica leaned on the doorjamb to watch her sleep. Noise and motion were comforting for Bay, just like watching her babies sleep was calming for Veronica.

Logan walked up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and kissing her shoulder. The urge to relax against him was strong, but Veronica resisted, remaining stiff in his embrace. "You're driving Pam to work."

"That was your plan" —his arm fell to his side— "Not mine."

Jackass thought she was angry because of the _ride_? Her hands clenched. Angling her body away from him, she slipped from the room, and marched down the hall. There was no need to check over her shoulder, she knew he would follow. Run and chase. She pushed open their bedroom door, stalked to the center of the room, and spun around to wait for him.

He didn't disappoint, striding through the door right behind her. "So what is it this time? Not in the mood for hot dogs? The kitchen's messy? Or was I sitting too close to Pam?" He tapped his chin as if he was considering the problem. "Wait, should I have made her eat in the kitchen like the help?"

Veronica screwed her eyes closed and counted to ten - slowly. Anger hummed through her body making her vibrate like a string tuned too tight. "When you take Pam to work, you need to ask her about the VIP room; she's holding something back."

Nonplussed by the change in subject, he blinked. "That's it? We're just going to talk about the case?"

"It's the only thing we seem to agree on."

As usual, Logan had no trouble keeping up with her change of moods. _Curse him_. "Why do you think she's hiding something?"

 _Right, Perfect Pam would never keep secrets._ "She gets cagey every time I ask about the party." He looked unconvinced and Veronica huffed. "There were eleven people in that room, Logan, and not one of them saw the money and drugs get stolen? That's an amazing _trick_."

The insinuation earned her a hard stare. "You could try being a little less judg—" He snapped his mouth closed, shook his head, and withdrew into himself; an unreadable mask slipping over his face and a cool, blank look in his eyes. The distance yawned between them.

Veronica took a step forward. "Logan, I didn't mean—"

The _slap, slap, slap_ of tiny bare feet running down the hall signaled the imminent arrival of Wyatt. "Mewwos, Daddy!"

His features relaxed and a soft smile curved his lips. "I'm coming, Bean." He opened the door and Wyatt rushed his legs. Logan scooped her up and glanced at Veronica. "She wants marshmallows—"

" _Toes-ed_ mewwos," Wyatt corrected.

"Toasted," he agreed, ducking his head and touching his nose to hers. "Apparently" —Logan kissed her and looked at Veronica— "you can't have hot dogs without them."

They grinned at each other over the top of Wyatt's head; their earlier acrimony fading beneath the cuteness that was their daughter, and Veronica nodded. "They go together."

"Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong?" Logan didn't sing the words, asking with a mock-serious tone, as if it was a real question. Wyatt tossed her head back to stare at him, screwing up her face in confusion.

Veronica's smile widened. "Remembered forever as shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom."

Wyatt's head whipped back and forth between the two of them, her frown deepening. Finally she declared them both, "Silly," and started wiggling herself free from Logan's arms. He set her on the floor and she scampered down the hall.

"Where are you planning on _'toes-ing'_ these marshmallows?"

"The firepit. They've already scouted the backyard for sticks." Logan started from the room and Veronica followed. "Tyler taught her how to pick the ideal stick, demonstrating how it needed to be long enough to reach the fire from their chairs."

The mention of Tyler was a splash of cold water. Veronica stopped walking. "I'm going to get her a sweater."

Turning on her heel, she slipped into Wyatt's room, and shut the door behind her. She wasn't going to miss any more family time, but she needed a minute alone before seeing Logan with Pam and Tyler. Their presence was part of her new reality and, no matter how much it sucked, she needed to find a way to deal, if for no other reason than Wyatt and Bailey.

 _Good to know that change still has the ability to walk up and punch me in the face._

She grabbed a pink, ribbed cardigan from Wyatt's closet and then took her time returning to the kitchen. Pam was at the sink, loading the dishwasher. The cheese was gone, the leftovers packed in tupperware containers, and the counters were wiped down. She looked completely at ease, making herself at home in Veronica's kitchen.

Veronica walked past her to the pantry. Using the step-stool, she took down the graham crackers and chocolate bars hidden on the top shelf. She stepped out of the pantry to find Pam leaning against the counter, drying her hands. "When you go into work, I need you to get the footage from the security cameras at the front gate, specifically from the night of the party."

Pam's eyes widened with surprise. "How did you know there were cameras?"

"I drove past there today. Are there cameras inside?"

She nodded. "On the first floor only, in the main part of the club- not upstairs where we were."

"See if you can get me copies of that footage too; we can watch it together and maybe find the happy henchmen from a different visit."

Pam folded the kitchen towel and hung it on the handle to the dishwasher. Another one of those pesky social conventions would dictate that she thank Pam for cleaning the kitchen, but Veronica wasn't in the mood to do grateful. Instead she said, "Tomorrow afternoon you and I are going to pay Karen a visit."

"You found her?"

"Not yet, but I will." Taking Pam with her wasn't ideal —her questions would be limited by Pam's presence and their ruse— but it was her only alternative. A civilian version of a police welfare check. She would get her first look at Karen, hear what happened when Sam's goons came for a visit, and get a chance to snoop around the apartment. Not that she expected to find the coke and cash sitting on the coffee table, but maybe a lead on their whereabouts.

Veronica held up the s'mores fixings and Wyatt's sweater. "I should get these outside before they eat all the marshmallows."

A crooked smile from Pam. "Good call."

The only illumination in the yard was the fire itself and the clear string lights in the trees. Logan had turned off the pool and deck lamps along with the security floods, creating a warm and inviting space in the center of the lawn.

He was in one of the loveseats with Wyatt on his lap. Tyler was standing near the firepit, whirling his stick in the air, and telling Logan about the tornado chamber at the science center. " —kept putting her hands in it."

"Easy with that stick, Ty, before you hit someone or something," Pam admonished from behind Veronica.

"But Mom" —there was a slight whine to Tyler's protest— "I'm showing Logan how the tornado moved." A complaint, but he still did exactly as she asked, lowering the stick to the ground.

Wyatt looked up at Logan, grabbed fistfuls of air, and squeezed her hands tight. "Bye bye 'nado."

Veronica smiled. Tyler's _'kept putting her hands in it'_ now made sense. Wyatt wanted to touch everything. Their daughter was her own force of nature. There was no way she would be able to resist grabbing the wind funnel. Veronica was actually a little surprised Wyatt didn't try climbing inside the glass chamber.

The empty seat next to Logan was her usual spot. Briefly she considered sitting somewhere else. It would drill home the point that she was still angry, but it would also leave the space empty for Pam, and that would drive her crazy. Veronica held out the graham crackers and chocolate for him, and then glanced back at the house.

Without her having to ask, Logan reached next to his thigh, and picked up the baby monitor. "And I turned off the washing machine before I came outside."

Of course he remembered to check on Bailey and bring the baby monitor with him. When he said nothing was more important to him than his family, it wasn't smoke and mirrors. Being a dad —a _great_ dad— was Logan's priority.

Veronica took her seat and watched him feed marshmallows onto the end of Tyler and Wyatt's sticks —two each— and then help them adjust to the right height for toasting, not burning. It didn't take long for Wyatt to lose interest in the cooking part, she was more about _eating_ the s'mores than making them.

"Daddy do." She shoved the stick at Logan and stole one of the uncooked marshmallows from the bag, popping it in her mouth. Then proceeded to talk around the wad of sugar in her mouth, telling Logan about the floating beach ball. "No climb." Wyatt wagged her finger.

"She couldn't reach the ball and tried climbing on the table." Tyler grinned. "But it was cool; it moved up and down on its own."

Logan nodded. "That's Bernoulli's principle - a lot of people think that's how the wing of an airplane gets lift." He started explaining Newton's laws of motion and Veronica ducked her head, smiling. Advanced physics from the man who had to take the class _twice_ in high school. _Very intelligent, but needs to apply himself_ was certainly an accurate report card assessment.

Tyler was a rapt audience, but Wyatt was losing interest fast. She tugged on Logan's shirt. "Done?"

"Sorry, jellybean." He made her a s'more and Wyatt snuggled next to Veronica's side to eat the gooey sandwich. "Do you want one?"

Veronica shook her head. Now that the kids were busy eating, awkward silence settled around them. What do you talk about with your husband's ex? An ex who was in love with him and might possibly be the mother of his child?

She knew if she let herself she would probably like Pam. Just like once upon a time she'd liked Parker, respected Carrie, and, of course, loved Lilly. Logan didn't care about vapid and vacuous women. Maybe he dated them and slept with them — _hello, Caitlin Ford_ — but his real feelings were saved for women of substance. And there was no doubt he had feelings for Pam, both back then and now. The only question was the depth of those feelings.

"What time do you have to leave for work?" Veronica asked.

Pam sucked chocolate off her finger before answering. "Soon. When we're done with these" —she held up the half-eaten s'more— "I'll get Ty ready for bed and he'll go to sleep at eight… without giving Veronica any problems, right?" She addressed the end of her sentence directly to her son who gave her a blank stare in return. "Right?"

Tyler's unconvincing nod caused a flutter of panic in Veronica's chest. Why had she suggested Logan drive Pam to work? Now she would have to do bedtime with Tyler. She had enough doubt in her skills as a mom, never mind as a stepmother. _Just don't make him clean the cinders from the firepit, Veronica_.

As if sensing her thoughts, Pam offered a reassuring smile. "A glass of water, a story, and one final trip to the bathroom, and he'll go to sleep without a problem."

That sounded way too easy to be believed. Veronica envisioned water in a cup the size of a Big Gulp, a book as long as War and Peace, and numerous trips to the bathroom in her very near future. "Hmm, maybe we should skip bath—" One look at Wyatt's chocolate covered face and hands put an end to that idea.

Logan followed her gaze to their daughter and grinned. "I'll take care of the little sticky one." He leaned in close to Wyatt. "Did you actually get any of that in your mouth or did you just rub it all over your face?"

Wyatt reached for him. Instead of blocking her arms, he let her squeeze his cheeks, and give him chocolate kisses. She giggled when she saw the handprints she'd left on his skin.

"Think that's funny, huh?" A big nod from Wyatt and he scooped her up, tucking her under his arm, and tickling her on their way inside. "Come on, Ty, you two can brush your teeth together."

Tyler popped out of his chair and scrambled after Logan. Pam watched them go and Veronica watched Pam. Her face was turned away and the light was too dim to read her expression, but Veronica had a feeling she wouldn't like what she saw. "Does Tyler get to spend a lot of time with his father?"

Pam's body jerked back as if she'd been slapped. "No, he doesn't," she snapped the words and immediately stood. "I should go take care of Ty."

"Okay." Veronica got up, gathered the leftover foodstuffs, and grabbed the baby monitor. "When you leave work tonight, take a cab to the decoy house. Walk through, turning lights on and off like you're getting ready for bed, and then slip out the back door and come here." She caught up to Pam at the stairs to the deck. "Have Logan give you the spare key and the code to the alarm."

"I won't get home until close to four-thirty; I don't want to wake everyone."

"It's fine." Veronica paused at the door. "Seriously, don't stay in that house alone. Walk through, front to back and leave immediately."

Pam blinked at the harsh tone and nodded. "I will."

Veronica left her standing at the foot of the stairs. After putting the food away and grabbing her messenger bag, she went in search of Logan and the kids. They were in the hall bathroom. Teeth were already brushed —evidenced by the glob of fresh n' fruity toothpaste in the sink— and Wyatt was in the tub. "Where's Tyler?"

On his knees washing Wyatt's hair, Logan didn't turn around. "Pam's getting him in his pajamas." He turned on the hand-held shower attachment and checked the water temp. "Head back."

Wyatt scrunched her eyes closed, tilting her face up. "No eyes, Daddy."

"No eyes," he agreed, kissing her nose before rinsing the shampoo from her hair.

"I can take over here if you want to go change." Her offer was rejected with silence. Veronica shut the toilet lid with a _thump_ and sat down, kicking the bathroom door closed with her toes. "Pam said the dealers showed up and Sam bought the coke, exchanging a briefcase of cash for the five kilos. There was extra coke —Pam called it a party favor— which they shared with the dancers before the 'entertainment' started. I need to know—"

"I get it, Veronica; you want all the salacious details." He sounded resigned. Or maybe it was annoyed. She didn't know if his attitude was caused by the unnecessary reminder, or if it was prompted by his belief that she was looking for a reason to judge Pam.

Veronica stared at the back of his head. "Were you in love with her?"

His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. Instead of answering, he picked up the towel lying next to him and held it open for Wyatt. "Okay, Bean, pajamas and stories."

Without budging, she shook her head, and dumped her bucket of foam letters into the water. "This one?" She held up a bright orange letter.

Logan checked his watch, lowered the towel, and answered, "M for mommy and milk and money." It was their alphabet soup game. Wyatt dropped the letter and then stirred the water with both hands. She grabbed the next one and held it up for him. "S for slurp" —he made slurping noises— "and silly."

With the next letter Wyatt declared it was, "Mama turn," and Veronica came up with a list of things that started with an O. They did a few more letters and then Logan told her if she didn't get out of the tub he wouldn't be able to read any stories.

Wyatt immediately dropped the Z she was holding and stood, arms stretched out for Logan to carry her. He wrapped her in the fluffy towel and Veronica followed them to Wyatt's room. Pajamas weren't a struggle because they just let her wear what she wanted —a bathing suit, t-shirt, tutu, and fuzzy socks— and then they each read her a story.

Logan switched the lamp to its nightlight setting and they eased out of her room, leaving the door ajar. He turned on her. "Babysitting bedtime? Were you afraid I'd crawl through the window and rappel down the side of the house to escape your interrogation?"

"Rappel? Would that one story jump be too much for you? Wait, I know." She unbuckled her belt and slipped it through the loops. "Use this, and don't forget to tie it to the window handle for safety."

"Gee Veronica, you're always looking out for me." He started for their room and then spun around to face her. "Are you going to help me cross the border in Lamb's trunk, too? Or should I just ask Duncan? I'm sure he'd be THRILLED if I were to disappear."

She staggered back a step. It was like they'd time traveled to senior year. Logan's sarcasm was set on stun and he was throwing Duncan in her face. She simultaneously wanted to flee and cry, but she did neither, remaining rooted to the spot and staring at him.

Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "Veronica, I'm—"

"No need to worry about Tyler's bedtime," Pam said, walking down the hall to join them. "He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow."

Veronica gave her a tight, thin-lipped smile. "It was a busy day."

Pam's steps slowed and she looked to Logan. "Uh, we need to leave or I'm going to be late."

"We don't want that," Veronica said, inching down the hall and slipping past Pam. "I'm going to put Bailey in her room." She ducked into the laundry room, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it, closing her eyes. There was no way she wanted to watch Logan and Pam leave together.

Aware that she was being ridiculous by hiding out in her own house, she still shut off the exhaust fan, and waited for the sound of the front door. When the muted conversation ceased and the alarm beeped, her eyes popped open.

She left Bailey in the porta-crib —at least she'd learned to let sleeping babies lie, now if she could just leave the dogs alone— and went to check on Tyler. He was sprawled across the pull-out on his stomach, arms raised overhead and hands tucked beneath the pillow.

Cognitive closure. Veronica understood the concept. The human mind was averse to ambiguity and unanswered questions so it created plausible explanations. The danger lay in seizing information and accepting it as fact, without taking the time to look for the truth.

It annoyed her that Logan was doing this with Tyler. Pam said he wasn't the father and that was enough for him. No questioning, no demands for a paternity test, no verification. Yet Veronica was doing the same thing. She'd latched on to the belief that Tyler was his son and her mind wouldn't let go of the idea. It was playing through the scenarios of visitation schedules and child support payments like it was a foregone conclusion.

She needed answers.

Shutting her office door, she crossed the house, and retrieved her abandoned messenger bag from the hallway floor. First, she would find Karen for tomorrow's excursion, and then she would find a discreet DNA lab.

She donned her favorite flannel boxers and t-shirt before crawling into bed with her laptop. Karen was easy. Using the information from Mac's preliminary background check and a relative search on Accurint, she found an address for Karen's mother in San Diego.

The search for a DNA lab wasn't as successful. Actually _finding_ a lab wasn't the problem. There were tons of labs willing to do the tests even without the standard buccal swab. Granted, the other samples increased result turnaround time and none of the tests could be used to establish legal paternity because there was no chain of custody for the collection. But those things didn't matter to Veronica. This wasn't about asserting parental rights; it was about knowing the truth. The problem was that all of the labs wanted signed consent forms from all the participants.

Veronica downloaded the sample form. It didn't require a notary, only a witness. She could sign the form for each of them and then be the witness to her forgery. The idea made her uneasy. _Really? That's where we're drawing the line these days, Veronica? You'll steal his DNA, but not forge his signature?_ She closed the PDF, deleted it, and then emptied her recycle bin. For good measure, she also deleted her browsing history.

Opening the file from Mac on the bed next to her, Veronica spread out the pages. Basic background checks on the dancers —criminal records, wants and warrants, credit reports, and a motor vehicle report— along with the not-so-basic tax return transcripts and list of social media accounts. With more time Mac would also get phone records, emails, and credit card transactions, but this was a start.

Veronica lined up the tax transcripts. Reina's one hundred and eighty grand income was at the high end of the scale, but all five were making a six-figure salary. The lowest earner was Karen and she still showed an annual income of a hundred and forty. The disparity could be a less-than-truthful reporting of their tips or Karen could just earn less because she was younger. Or maybe the other girls were getting paid for doing things that Karen didn't.

She picked up the list of social media sites and opened a new browser window. Pam said that one of Sam's men —either Frick or Frack— had a thing for Siobhan Byrne. Veronica signed into her "Amber" Facebook account and searched for Siobhan. If the interest was mutual, Goon #2 could be one of her friends.

The alarm pad chimed with the open and close of the front door.

Siobhan's profile picture was her doing the skater pose on a stripper pole, wearing nothing but black boyshorts, a lace bra, and platform heels. Veronica clicked on the photos tab. There were more poses in the same outfit, each trick more complicated than the last. The ubiquitous _'to see what she shares with friends, send her a friend request'_ was at the top of the page. If this was Siobhan's idea of a privacy setting, Veronica wondered what she reserved for people who knew her.

She could feel Logan in the bedroom doorway, watching her.

Clicking over to Siobhan's friends, she absently scrolled through the alphabetical list and intentionally ignored Logan. Siobhan was a popular girl and this was a fruitless task, especially when Logan was here with — _hopefully_ — useful information. Veronica snapped the laptop closed. "What did Pam say?"

He pushed off the door frame. "Things that make me want to take a shower." Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he yanked it over his head and tossed it on the chair. He shucked his jeans next. They landed on top of the tee. Clad only in boxer briefs and socks, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "The dancers were performing a live sex show."

Sex shows weren't illegal in California per se. The O'Farrell Theater in San Francisco's Tenderloin district was famous for its shows and its former owners were responsible for the hardcore porn movie, _Behind the Green Door_ , with Marilyn Chambers.

The need for 'props' and a bed in the room now made sense. "Were all of the dancers… performing?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And one of the dancers was having sex with the three drug dealers."

Veronica's gaze fell to the papers spread on the bed. "Let me guess, Pam's friend from Vegas, Reina?"

The bed shifted, Logan twisting his body to stare at her. "How did you know?"

"She makes the most money." Veronica gathered the papers, tapped them together, and returned them to the folder. "Did they take any breaks? What about the other three guys- Sam and his two associates? Were they just watching the show or…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for Logan to provide the answer.

He fell back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. "Pam can't account for every minute. There were bathroom breaks and people eating; they stopped to do lines of coke, and get water. But there were definitely enough _distractions_ to allow for the theft."

No alibis for any of them and they still needed to get the coke and cash out of the room. "I don't suppose anybody was drinking Big Mouth Joe's?"

"Not funny."

"Wasn't trying to be." She shoved the folder and laptop into her messenger bag and tucked it under the bed. "You know that money delivery I told you to stop? I've changed my mind."

He swung his legs onto the mattress, rolling on his side to face her. "Changed your mind about going undercover? You want Pam to give them the money?"

She shook her head. "That's still a bad idea." Tossing back the covers, she got out of bed. "Can you have Tomás bring over the cash? Not the full two hundred grand, but half?"

"Where are you going?"

"First class to Bora Bora? Know any good luxury resorts?" He frowned, forehead crinkling, and she stopped walking. "Oh, you mean now? To the kitchen- can't pack on an empty stomach."

And she was starving. That one bite of bacon was the first thing she'd eaten since last night's French dip and potato skins. She was existing on decaf and adrenaline.

The mac and cheese and hotdogs from dinner were a hard pass. There was Dottie's chicken parm, but she wasn't in the mood. Black bean soup from Sunday was also a no. She found the leftover bacon, pulled out a chunk of brie, and then went to the pantry for sourdough bread and apricot preserves.

"So you're still mad then." It wasn't a question.

She shrugged, assembling her grilled cheese sandwich and slathering the outside of the bread with butter. "What? You're the only one who gets to joke about leaving?"

Logan ducked his head as the words hit their mark. Their issues manifested themselves in different ways, but they both feared abandonment. Her leaving for nine years didn't help, but they'd finally gotten to the point where they understood this was it. They were committed to making it work and neither of them was going to run at the first —or fiftieth— sign of trouble. It gave them a sense of security in their relationship; an ability to openly communicate without fear. Threatening to leave undermined that.

"Okay, Veronica; you're right and I'm sorry." He fixed himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "What are you going to do with the money?"

"I need to _see_ it —size and shape— so I can figure out how it was smuggled from the room." She joined him at the table with her sandwich. "And since I'm not actually going to buy five kilos of coke, got any suggestions?"

"Each one is about this big," he answered, framing it out with his hands. Leaving the table, he disappeared into the living room, and returned carrying five thick paperback books. "Maybe about a half inch longer, but these are close." He stacked them on the table.

No windows in the bathroom, the briefcases didn't disappear, the room was searched, and the dancers were naked- how did they steal it? There had to be a hiding place in the VIP room they missed. She got up and fixed some chocolate milk.

She finished her sandwich without tasting it and drained her glass. This was not a comfortable silence. Veronica didn't want to talk about the case and Logan didn't want to talk about Pam. It left them little to say. "I'm going to get some sleep before Bailey wakes up."

He held out an arm to stop her. "I wasn't in love with Pam." She didn't try to hide her skepticism, pursing her lips and arching an eyebrow. Logan smirked. "I was too fucked up to love anybody."

That might have been true at the very beginning of their relationship, but not for the entire time they were together. "You know she's in love with you, right?"

"God" —Logan shook his head— "now you sound like Carrie."

Her temper flared. "Do I? Well, I can see how it might be confusing, there's so many of us on your list."

"Right, my list." His lips flattened and he looked her over with a cool blank stare. "Remind me- who are you again?"

"Veronica," she enunciated each syllable. "I would have said 'mother of your children' but that's not exactly an exclusive club anymore, is it?" Pushing back her chair, she blindly grabbed her dishes, and dumped them in the sink. "You need to tell her—"

Concern darkened his eyes. "Tell her what, Veronica?" He moved in front of her, keeping her in the kitchen. "That I'm in love with my wife?" Logan stroked his thumb over her cheek. "Pam has known that since the day I met her."

 _You need to tell her you want a paternity test_ is what she wanted to say. But he was here and he was trying so hard to fix things. To make everything okay. He was offering reassurances and apologizing, and she was giving him nothing in return.

His hand cradled her cheek. She turned her face, kissing the center of his palm. "I love you, too, Logan."


	12. Closer to Fine

CHAPTER TWELVE

Logan made breakfast —eggs fried inside yellow bell pepper rings— and then got the kids to play a game of Peek-a-Doodle Doo in the living room before feeding Bailey. When he woke Veronica there was nothing left for her to do, but eat breakfast and watch the kids try to remember which chickens had eggs under them.

"Manicotti from Luigi's for dinner tonight?" Logan kissed her nose. "I can pick it up on my way home?"

"Is that your way of saying you don't want to cook?"

"It's Wednesday, Veronica." When she failed to make the correlation, he sadly shook his head. "Everybody knows —except you, apparently— Wednesday is Prince spaghetti day."

She rolled her eyes for his benefit and hid her smile by taking a sip of coffee. He was different this morning. Last night, too. After their talk-fight in the kitchen, he'd sent her to get some sleep before Bailey woke up demanding food and then he'd taken care of both of her late night feedings, allowing Veronica to sleep.

No, not different, she silently corrected. This was the return of her husband. The Logan she hadn't seen since Sunday. She suspected his oversolicitous behavior was meant to be reassuring; his way of proving that things would not change with Pam and Tyler in their lives. It was a bit simplistic, but she was willing to play a little make-believe. "You know I can't say no to Italian food."

"True." He took away her mug, put it on the counter, and wrapped his arms around her waist, hands sliding over her ass as he pulled her closer. "It's like the hundred thousand dollar Pyramid. Things that Veronica Mars can't resist: Italian food, waffles and ice cream, mysteries, and" —he kissed the side of her neck— "Logan Echolls."

She gently pushed his shoulder. "Cocky bastard."

His smile was smug as he let her go and gave her back her coffee. "So it's a date? Our kitchen at six?" He leaned in for a lingering kiss goodbye. "Dress casually, or don't dress at all; I'm pretty flexible." His eyebrow bob earned him another eye roll. Still smiling, he strolled from the kitchen.

There were goodbye hugs and kisses for Wyatt and she told him to, "Habbagooday," which earned her another kiss. He ruffled Tyler's hair and then he was gone.

Veronica sipped her coffee and turned to Bailey. She was in her bouncer, trying to shove both hands into her mouth while blowing spit bubbles and gurgling. "No manicotti for you" —she blew a raspberry on the baby's tummy— "But I promise, no bottled dinner, okay?"

Bailey kicked her legs, dropping her hands from her mouth to smile. "I almost believe you know what I'm saying." Putting down her coffee, she placed her index fingers in the baby's palms, and Bay's hands closed around them. Veronica showered kisses on her little fists.

When the doorbell rang, it took some wiggling to free her fingers from Bailey's tight grip, and she quickly handed the baby her monkey rattle to avoid any tears. "I have to open the door for Nana Dot."

Bailey shook the rattle, screeching something that sounded like, _bah_. Veronica shrugged. "We tried giving her a key, but she didn't want one."

She brought the bouncer with her to the front door.

Dottie was waiting with a bulging tote bag and a cupcake tin. "I come bearing arts and crafts projects and fresh, out-of-the-oven chocolate chip muffins." She held out the tin and Veronica exchanged the bouncer for the muffins. "I had to wrestle those away from your dad."

"Hope you got combat pay." Balancing the tray with one hand, Veronica helped herself to a muffin. She closed the door with her hip, licked one of the warm, gooey chocolate chips, and took a large bite of muffin. "The kids are playing a board game" —she nodded toward the pastel table— "Pam is sleeping, and I'm going to do some work in the garage until she wakes up."

"Nana, chicks!" Wyatt held up one of the plastic hens and then flapped her arms like a chicken, making _cluck, cluck_ noises.

Dottie clucked back at her. "After your game, we're going to make table turkeys and leaf suncatchers, okay?"

Wyatt wasn't paying attention anymore; she'd returned to her game. She picked up a chicken, found an egg, and put it in the crate. Veronica leaned over and kissed the top of Wyatt's head, careful not to interrupt her search for eggs, and finished eating her muffin on the way to the garage.

Locking the connecting door behind her, she turned on the music, keeping it low so Wyatt wouldn't think she was dance-partying without her.

There were only two days until her audition with Joey and if she wanted to be ready, she needed to try this routine in her costume and heels. She peeled off her clothes and shimmied into the see-through halter dress and g-string. Foregoing the pasties, she sat on Logan's workout bench and jammed her feet into the strappy platforms. As Loretta had instructed, they were snug and in no danger of flying anywhere.

Veronica checked the mirror. With her bedhead and no makeup, she looked like a soccer mom posing as a stripper. Okay, so she wasn't actually a soccer mom —that was more Logan's thing— but she still felt ridiculous. "Cowboy up, Veronica Mars."

It was easier to dance without Pam around. But not so easy in the six-inch heels. She ran through her routine twice, adjusting for the weight of the shoes, and trying not to clank the metal studs against the pole. The third time was better, but still not perfect. She reset the song and did the entire routine a fourth and final time. It wouldn't help if she was too sore to actually dance on Friday.

Shedding her costume and her Amber persona, she redressed and left the garage.

The kids weren't in the living room and the house was too quiet for them to be inside. Veronica crossed to the French doors to check the yard. Wyatt and Tyler and Dottie were sitting on the grass painting paper cups brown, and Bailey was doing tummy time on a blanket.

Leaving the doors open, she headed for her bedroom. To give Pam more time to sleep, Veronica indulged in a long shower with all twelve body massage jets.

Stripper Amber was almost ready for her new job at Shenanigans, but _paper_ Amber would need a little tweaking. Going undercover as an employee at an _actual_ business meant paperwork. The federal government required employment eligibility verification and tax withholding information. Veronica, as Amber, was going to have to show Joey a birth certificate and driver's license and provide him with a social security number.

The first two weren't a problem. She'd already created realistic-looking fakes of both documents and Veronica had no doubt they would pass inspection by Joey. The social security number was an issue. Not creating one —she could use the first five numbers of her own and make up the last four digits— but what happened when the employment forms were sent to the government. Mac was good, but even she couldn't create a backstop for Amber that would fool Homeland Security.

As manager of Shenanigans, Pam was just going to have to lose Amber's documents.

Veronica turned off the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel, braided her wet hair, and put on makeup. Jeans and a black turtleneck and then a pair of black heeled boots to complete the outfit and she was ready to leave. She went back to the closet for her green leather Coach bag. It was already set up as Amber's purse with her ID, library card, and cash. Now it just needed one more thing.

She headed for her office and was stopped by the sight of Pam in the kitchen. She was already dressed —jeans and a green cowl-necked sweater— and leaning against the counter drinking coffee. Veronica detoured into the room and Pam greeted her with a yawned, "Good morning."

A walking and talking picture of a bad night's sleep. Maybe more than one. Sans makeup, the circles under Pam's eyes were bruise-dark and her body was stiff. A spring wound tight and about to snap. "Lumpy mattress?"

Her brows knit together and then the confusion cleared. "No, the pull-out was fine, thanks." She grimaced, shaking her head. "Actually, it could have been a bed of nails and I wouldn't have noticed." She put her empty cup in the Keurig and hit brew. "My sleep" —she used air quotes around the word— "was a cocktail of bad dreams and flat-out worry."

Veronica didn't know how to respond to that so she remained silent. Pam had good reason to worry. There was no guaranteed positive outcome. "Were you able to bring home the surveillance video?"

Nodding, she picked up her coffee. "We keep the video for ninety days" —her nose wrinkled in disgust— "Or longer, if Joey finds the footage interesting." She sipped her coffee and started walking toward Veronica's office. "I took the entire three months we had."

Three months, six days a week, fourteen hours a day equaled hundreds of hours. Even on fast-forward it would take them forever to wade through it all. Veronica silently groaned. Or maybe it wasn't that silent, because Pam said, "Don't worry, it's date and time-stamped and searchable."

Pam pushed open the office door. The pull-out was put away, converting the bed back into a sofa. The throw pillows were in their place at the corners. All the bedding was neatly folded and stacked on a chair. Pam was definitely a considerate houseguest.

"Do you want to watch them now?" Pam pulled a stack of discs from her duffel bag, set them on the edge of the desk, and then hefted out a special DVD player the size of a ream of paper.

Veronica frowned at the machine. "Aren't they going to miss that?"

Pam shook her head as she pulled out the HDMI cable and started attaching the machine to the television. "This is the spare player from my office."

There were eighteen discs in all; each conveniently labeled —security gate, entrance, main stage, and so on— for the camera that supplied the footage. Veronica flipped through them. Her original math was wrong. Three months, six days a week, fourteen hours a day from _eighteen different cameras_ was _thousands_ of hours of manpower. She silently thanked the god of video surveillance for the search feature.

The title of the next disc made her pause. "There's a camera in the dressing room?"

Pam nodded. "It's perfectly legal as long as it's not hidden. All the girls know it's there; they've signed waivers."

Waiver or not, legal or not, a camera in the dressing room was an incredible invasion of privacy. Veronica half expected to see 'bathroom' on one of the DVDs and wasn't disappointed when she got to the bottom of the stack. Mens room and ladies room were the last two discs. She started arranging the pile in the order she wanted to watch them.

Eighteen security cameras. For a strip club? Excessive was an understatement. Her spidey sense started to tingle. This place was locked up tighter than a bank. "Since we know all the players were present the night of the party, let's start there." Veronica handed her the disc labeled 'security gate'.

It would probably be the most useful. The camera at the gate was angled low to record the face of the driver, and there was adequate lighting on the fence posts. The problem with a lot of surveillance systems was they produced crappy quality video. A camera needed to be focused on a small area to provide a high-level of detail —the amount of detail needed for facial recognition— and most business owners set their fields of view too wide.

There was also bad lighting, blind spots, and cameras that were angled wrong. All of which, Veronica had used to her advantage more than once.

Pam inserted the disc and pressed play. Veronica did a double take and let out a low whistle. "Wow."

The picture was so clear it could've been directed by Martin Scorsese and produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. If all the video was like this, she would have no problem identifying her suspect pool.

Apparently, Joey's perversion was going to be helpful. "Let me guess, Joey insisted on a state-of-the-art, high-def system?"

"With long-range night vision, but actually, it was Sam who installed the system." Pam rolled her eyes. "Not that Joey has any complaints about the picture quality."

Sam wanted the expensive equipment. Veronica picked up the stack of discs, flipping through them more slowly this time. These were not blurry, grainy videos used to prevent employee theft and keep the dancers safe.

Shenanigans was an upscale club for the rich and powerful in Neptune and Balboa County. The same rich and powerful people whose images were on these DVDs. _Did they know they were being recorded? Doubtful_. Depending on their content, these could be used for anything. From contesting prenups and winning custody battles all the way to blackmail. For the Vinnie Van Lowes of the world, this was a goldmine.

"This is the night of the party." Pam was using slow-motion fast-forward to scroll. "Those are the caterers arriving with the food."

The time on the display read seven p.m. A white delivery truck stopped at the gate. The company's name — _Becker's Catering_ — was visible as it drove past the camera. According to Pam's timeline of events, she was already inside the club, setting up the room, when the caterers arrived.

Twenty minutes elapsed on screen and Pam hit pause. "Sam's car." She advanced until the driver's window of the Maserati sedan was in frame. It barely slowed on its way through the gate, but there was a quick glimpse of the driver. Pam was too slow with the pause button. She hit the back button and the driver's face filled the screen. "That's Frack. I asked Siobhan about him, she says his name is Dom."

Sam's henchmen —Frick and Frack— now had names: Dom and Michael a/k/a Mickey. "Can you take a screenshot of that and email it to me?"

Nodding, Pam hit a few buttons on the panel, and then resumed the playback. A steady stream of cars pulled up to and through the gate, but Pam ignored them.

There was a rhythm to it. The stopping car, a short wait, fence slides open, and repeat. It was hypnotic. Veronica almost missed the change in pattern as a Lincoln Navigator approached. The gate opened first and the Navigator slid right through without hesitation. That was the same thing that happened for Sam.

Veronica reached past Pam to hit pause. "Why didn't they stop at the gate?" She tapped the frozen image of the Navigator for emphasis.

"They probably have a pass," Pam said, shrugging. "All the staff —DJ, dancers, bartenders— and the private members have stickers on their cars with a barcode; it opens the gate for them."

"Would the drug dealers have stickers? Are they members?"

She started to shake her head, stopped, and frowned. "I don't think so? I'd never seen them before that night and I'm pretty good with remembering the regulars - better tips."

"Okay." Hopes of their names being on a membership list now dashed, Veronica pushed play.

A half an hour after Sam's arrival, a Cadillac Escalade moved into view. The tinted window slid down, driver leaning forward, and Pam jabbed the pause button. "That's one of them. He didn't do any talking during the buy, so probably a flunky, but he's definitely one of the dealers."

Dark hair, scruffy, square jaw, he seemed big, like he was stuffed into the roomy Escalade. "Send me this still, too."

While Pam did as instructed, Veronica found the discs labeled _Balcony A_ and _Balcony B_. The two staircases at the back of the house were how the private members entered the club. This way they could bypass the main floor and the general public. She held them up for Pam. "Which one leads to the right VIP room?"

Pam plucked _Balcony A_ from Veronica's hand and switched out the DVD. Without being asked, she fast-forwarded to the approximate time the dealers would reach the stairs after parking their car. She gave it a five minute lead time, then let it play.

Veronica's impression of 'big' was accurate. The driver stood almost a foot taller than his two companions. All three were dressed alike. Dress slacks, button-down shirts under pullover sweaters, and chukka boots. _Was there a mobster discount at Brooks Brothers?_

They watched the sequence through once. The cameras were mounted high, angled down, with a good view of the stairs and the door, but provided no close-up shots of the three men. Veronica had Pam run the video again, taking stills of each man as they reached the landing. She didn't think facial recognition would work on any of the pictures, but if she could identify the driver, maybe his known associates would clue her in as to the identities of the other two.

"This player is from your office- do Sam and Joey have their own?"

"Yes" —she ejected the disc— "and Sam has an app on his phone that allows him to see all the cameras."

Nodding to herself, Veronica stood and put the stack of discs on her desk. "Can you leave these here? I want to look at more footage later."

By way of an answer, Pam said, "Those are copies." She stood too. "Are you looking for something in particular?"

Veronica prevaricated. "I just want to get a feel for the club and the other dancers; see if I can get better stills of our bad guys." Pam looked unconvinced by the explanation so Veronica changed the subject. "We should probably get on the road." _Because I have a date tonight_. Crossing the room to the closet, she found the black tin she wanted, and slipped it in her purse. "Karen's mother has an apartment in City Heights."

"She might not be there," Pam cautioned.

It was still the best place to start. When in trouble, people invariably turned to friends or family. They showed up looking for a place to hide, or help getting out of town. They asked for cash or alibis or a good attorney. It was why cops looking for a fugitive kept eyes on the relatives. "Just remember to introduce me as Amber and stick to our story - friends from Reno, and you've hired me to fill in for her at the club."

While Pam went to put her empty coffee mug in the sink, Veronica retrieved her car keys and checked on the kids. They were still outside with Dot. They'd moved on to the construction paper and glue part of craft time, which meant an extra-long bath tonight. Wyatt was a big fan of glue - squeezing the bottle, painting with it, trying to eat it, and getting it everywhere. Veronica smiled at the orange paper stuck to Wyatt's forehead.

Pam joined her at the window. "She has Logan's energy... and his smile."

As if on cue, Wyatt grinned, dimples appearing at the sides of her mouth, as she squirted glue onto her leg. Dottie reached for the Elmer's and Wyatt flung out her arms, gesturing with the bottle and spitting glue on the grass. Lips moving a mile-a-minute as she explained her reasons for _needing_ the glue. "Let's not forget his flair for the dramatic and his yakety-yak."

Pam laughed. "It's cuter on her."

"I don't know; Logan thinks he's pretty cute."

"Yes, he does," Pam agreed, picking up her purse from the end table. Veronica took it as a sign that it was time to leave. She stole a last look at Wyatt —pouting at the loss of her glue— and then followed Pam to the front door.

The BMW was in its usual spot in the driveway, but the driver's settings were all different, meaning Logan had used it to drive Pam to work last night. With the seat pushed all the way back to accommodate his long legs, Veronica had to balance on the edge of the leather to start the car.

Sam Cooke's tenor belted from the radio. _If you wanted to leave me and roam, when you got back, I'd just say welcome home; 'cause honey, nothing, nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you._

Veronica smiled at the musical love note. _Okay, maybe he is as cute as he thinks he is_. She turned down the volume on the CD and adjusted the seat and mirrors. Snapping her seat belt into place, she checked on Pam and then backed out of the driveway, pointing the car in the direction of the 5 freeway.

"Did you ever meet Sean Friedrich?"

Pam didn't question the non-sequitur, but it did take her a few minutes to place the name. "Logan's old dealer?"

"That would be him." Veronica made the slight right onto Mission Bay Drive and then merged onto the freeway south.

"Once or twice —smarmy, chipmunk-cheeked bastard— he came sniffing around Dick's house looking for Logan, acting like they were _friends_." A deep _blech_ rolled up the back of her throat as if nauseated by the idea. _Ditto, Pam_. "Do you think he has something to do with the dealers at the club?"

"No," Veronica said, shaking her head. "I found—" She cut herself off —best to not mention the tabloid article— and skipped directly to the question. "Did he know about Logan's overdose?"

"Definitely. That was the first time I met him; when Logan was going through withdrawal. Dick kicked him out, threatening to end him if he ever sold Logan more drugs."

That was enough proof for Veronica. The mysterious _'source close to Echolls'_ cited in the article had to be Friedrich. The media was never above publishing stories of celebrities' kids gone wrong and selling Logan's secrets to the tabloids for some fast cash reeked of Sean.

She transferred to the Mission Valley Freeway, driving toward Qualcomm Stadium. Veronica frowned, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Senior year, Sean was a low-level dealer for the Fitzpatricks. According to Weevil, the Fitzpatricks were still around, but they'd lost their edge after Liam was sentenced to life for killing his brother. Veronica doubted their fall from power would be enough motivation for Sean to clean up his act. So who was supplying him with his drugs now?

Nico Benedetti and the Sorokins were an option, but Veronica couldn't stroll into Nico's lounge and get her questions answered. However, she _could_ get Sean to cough up some details on Neptune's current drug scene and identify all the players. And maybe while she was at it, she could follow through on Dick's threat to end him.

Driving past the stadium, she took the exit for the Escondido Freeway. Enough about Sean, they were getting closer to their destination and they needed to discuss how to play this visit. "Karen isn't going to trust me, so you're going to have to do most of the talking."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Try to get her to talk about the party - did she notice anything, was anybody acting strange or extra nervous, see who she thinks took the money" —Veronica glanced at Pam— "And find out if she's talked to any of the other dancers."

Silence from the passenger seat. Veronica stole another look. Pam was twisted away, staring out the side window. "Did Logan tell you about the party?"

"He did." Veronica wasn't sure if he'd shared all the details Pam gave him, but he'd told her enough for her to get a disturbing mental image of the festivities. What she didn't understand was Pam's reluctance to talk about it.

At first, she'd thought Pam was embarrassed to discuss it in front of Logan, and then she'd decided Pam didn't want to confide in _her_. But that didn't make sense. Pam didn't seem the type to be concerned with what other people thought. And certainly not the wife of her ex-boyfriend, lover, friend with benefits.

Pam remained quiet. Veronica exited the freeway at University Avenue. It wasn't the best neighborhood, but it got nicer the further along she drove. Pawn shops, check-cashing places, tattoo parlors, and used tire stores gave way to new condos, trendy restaurants and Starbucks, and in the midst of the gentrification stood the Department of Health and Human Services. Veronica made a left on the next block.

"The parties didn't start out that way; the girls were just dancing, and I wasn't involved. Then Karen came to me and said things were… escalating. The members were propositioning the girls, offering them money for sex —with them, with each other— and they weren't nice about it." Pam gave that a minute to sink in before continuing, "Some of the girls quit working and some of them… let's just say they were happy to make the extra cash."

Veronica found the first available spot and parked. They could walk to the apartment. She didn't want to be driving. She wanted to give her full attention to the rest of Pam's story.

"I wasn't happy with any of it. I went to both Joey and Sam to get it stopped. Joey told me to lighten up, everybody was having a good time, and the girls were getting paid." Her mouth twisted in disgust. "I tried using logic with Sam, telling him there were enough illegal things happening at the club that we didn't need to get busted for prostitution." She shook her head. "He told me not to worry about it; said the members would never report him to the authorities."

Overconfidence or blackmail? Possibly both. "If you wanted it stopped, then why—"

"Was I performing at the party?" At Veronica's nod, Pam met her gaze, holding steady eye contact. "I have to be there. The girls are my responsibility, and I need to keep them safe."


	13. Love Remains the Same

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 _I need to keep them safe_. Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one who was over-confident. There was no way Pam would be able to protect the girls in that situation. It wasn't like she could intervene and bounce the guy who was getting rough. These were Sam's guests and it appeared they were given carte blanche to everything - including the dancers. Veronica frowned.

Had something bad already happened? Pam was so adamant about needing to be present to watch out for the girls. Had one of them been raped? Sexually assaulted? "Can you get me the names of the women who quit working when the parties progressed to more than just dancing?"

A short, sharp nod and Pam steered the conversation away from the party. She turned her head to stare at the stucco wall of the liquor store. "Karen's going to think it's weird if I just start questioning her."

"It's not an interrogation. Ask how she's feeling, tell her I'm going to fill in at the club for her until she's ready to come back —schmooze, engage in a little office gossip— and draw out as much information as you can. Pretend she's a customer, but instead of tips, you want facts, and you have to charm them out of her."

As Veronica finished talking, Pam turned to face her, wearing a bemused smile. "Verbal stripping?"

"Sure, let's go with that." She pushed open the door, exiting the car.

The street was a mix of single family homes and three-story apartment complexes. She'd parked close to the strip mall, anchored by Apple Liquors at its corner. Veronica walked a few paces down the sidewalk, confirming that the house numbers were going up, and then paused to wait for Pam. Karen's mother lived mid-block on the right hand side.

The boxy gray building was flanked by Spanish bungalows —one orange and one tan— and it looked out of place with its surroundings. There was no greenery in front, only a concrete slab with four parking spaces. Veronica assumed there was one for each unit. A patch of dirt running along the foundation wall was overturned; either something was recently uprooted, or someone was preparing to plant.

The entrances for the individual apartments were on the side of the building. There were two doors on the ground floor and two on a wide landing at the top of a set of metal stairs. Karen's mother was in unit four. Wrought iron fencing blocked access to the apartment doors and stairs.

Pam moved toward the steel mailboxes and doorbells mounted to the fence, her eyes skimming over the names. Before she could hit the buzzer, Veronica held out an arm to stop her.

Announcing their presence was a last resort measure. If Karen was going to turn them away, she would have to do it face-to-face. Veronica tried the gate —no need to pick a lock if it was already open— and the knob turned with no resistance. She shook her head. This was not ideal security. "While we're here, convince Karen to move. If we found her this easily, so can the bad guys."

Without waiting for a response, Veronica started up the stairs. The closer door had a tarnished metal number three tacked above a peephole. She flattened herself to the wall, letting Pam precede her to the next apartment while staying out of view of the window. Through the thin wall, Veronica could hear Judge Judy telling someone to _'keep it simple, stupid.'_ The television clicked off seconds after Pam's knock, but there was no response from inside the apartment.

Too late to pretend you're not home. Veronica motioned for Pam to knock again. "Tell her it's you," she whispered, sotto voce.

Pam did as instructed, knocking a little louder, and calling, "Karen, it's Pam." Still no response. She held out her hands and shrugged the question: _what do you want me to do?_

Veronica mimed another knock, but as Pam raised her fist, the door opened.

"Why are you here?" Karen demanded, her voice raw and rough. She was slouched low in her bulky sweatshirt and a large swath of chestnut hair covered half her face. One brown eye moved past Pam to zero in on Veronica. "And who is she?"

"This is my friend, Amber." The lie was smooth, no hesitation, and no giveaway glance toward Veronica. "I wanted to see how you are and she volunteered to drive." It was a flimsy excuse for Veronica's presence, but Pam sold it when she lowered her voice and added, "They know my car."

Karen stepped back, opening the door wider, and Pam disappeared into the apartment. Veronica hustled after her before Karen decided the chauffeur could wait in the car. The door shut behind them. Karen relocked the deadbolt and fastened the door chain.

Murky daylight penetrated the window shades and dimly illumined the apartment. Dust motes hung in the air. A one-wall kitchen on the left was separated from the small living room by a pony wall. There was no dining table or breakfast bar. Veronica guessed that meals were eaten while sitting on the sofa in front of the television.

An open suitcase, clothes spilling from its sides, was shoved against the side of said couch. More clothes were strewn over a matching armchair, and pillows and blankets were in a tangled heap on the floor. Appearances said it was a one bedroom apartment and Karen was sleeping on the sofa. That, and she was a lousy houseguest. She should take lessons from Pam.

Karen slumped into the chair, atop the clothes, and reached for the lamp. Raising her arm allowed the voluminous sleeve to pool around her elbow, revealing a short cast-the kind used for wrist or forearm fractures. She flicked on the light and Veronica got her first good look at Sam's work.

Greenish-yellow bruises ringed Karen's neck. They were darker in the front —almost black— as if someone exerted more pressure at the base of her throat, possibly with their thumbs. Her bottom lip was swollen and cracked.

A sharp intake of breath came from Pam at the sight of her friend. Leaning forward, she reached over the coffee table and gently took hold of Karen's chin. She lifted her face, freeing it from the curtain of hair. A large gauze bandage ran the length of her cheek from eye to chin. "I'm so sorry, Ren," Pam murmured.

Karen's rapid blinking indicated imminent tears. If she fell apart, they would never get her to talk.

"Were you in an accident?" Veronica's question made both women turn their heads to stare at her, Pam's expression confused and Karen's angry.

"It wasn't any _accident_." She glared at Pam. "Did you tell her that?"

Fully recovered from Veronica's dumb routine, Pam shook her head. "No, I didn't want…" She fell silent for a beat and then said, "Amber's going to dance at the club; she's going to fill in for you."

"I thought you said you were friends?" Karen sized up Veronica. "Obviously not good ones."

"She won't be upstairs."

 _No, I won't_. Stripping was already skirting too close to the edge; participating in the private parties would be akin to throwing herself head-first off the cliff. Her... or Logan. If she even _hinted_ at the idea of going upstairs, he would come undone.

Veronica sat on the sofa next to Pam. A hard stick jabbed the base of her spine. No, not a stick. Twisting her arm behind her, she felt along the sofa cushions and pulled out a black slide shoe with an acrylic vamp and rhinestone-covered platform. She studied the offending heel, judging its height at nine inches and its sharpness a ten; she rubbed the small of her back.

"You can put that anywhere," Karen said, referring to the heel.

Veronica started to lean forward, intending to set it on the coffee table, and stopped. She nudged Pam's foot with her toe, prodding her to get on with the conversation.

"Do you need anything? Food?" Pam gestured toward the empty take-out containers and pizza boxes littering the coffee table. "I can go shopping for you?"

Veronica slid her hand into her Coach bag at her side. Her fingers rooted through the purse until they found the black tin. Popping the case open inside the bag, she palmed one of the bugs, and pulled out her hand.

"I don't need food; I need you to give 'em the—" Karen glanced at Veronica and changed her sentence. "Give 'em what they want."

"Me?" Genuine surprise colored Pam's response. It didn't exactly prove she wasn't the thief, but it bolstered Veronica's confidence in Pam's innocence. "You think it was me?"

They stared at each other, neither of them paying attention to Veronica. It was a tense moment and she used it. Scooting to the edge of the sofa, she set the high heel on the coffee table with her right hand, and reached under the table to plant the listening device with her left.

"Not really." Karen's voice lacked conviction, but the tension abated and her shoulders relaxed. "I thought it was Lacey or Siobhan. But the dealers" —her fingers reflexively touched the bandage on her cheek— "said it was you."

The dealers? Veronica thought Sam and his guys were the ones to rough up Karen? It was frustrating to sit on the sidelines and let Pam handle the questions. She prodded Pam's foot again, trying to get her to ask for more details.

Pam frowned. Her gaze flicked to Veronica and back to Karen. "On the phone you said, Frick and Frack were the ones…"

"Oh, they were there too - it was a regular party. Dom called it pooling resources." Karen crossed her arms over her chest, curling into the chair. "They accused me first, tellin' me they _knew_ I had it, and when I wouldn't confess, they demanded I tell them who it was."

"And you told them it was me?" Pam's lips parted, and she shook her head in disbelief.

"I didn't tell them it was anybody; they started throwin' out names and finally settled on you. I don't know why and I didn't care, I just wanted them to leave."

This was not good. If they'd already decided Pam was guilty, it wouldn't be long before they 'pooled their resources' and paid her the same kind of visit. Actually, they were long overdue. Veronica looked at Karen's neck again. The green bruises were fading to yellow, which made them almost a week old.

Seven days. Why hadn't the goon squad been to see Pam or any of the other dancers?

Maybe they _had_ been to see the other dancers and she just didn't _ask_? Veronica fought the urge to thwack her forehead with the heel of her hand. This wasn't an old V8 commercial. She was so busy playing stripper, and thinking about secret DNA tests, that she wasn't focusing on the case. Pam had said they'd threatened Tyler and Veronica didn't even question it. When did they threaten him? And what sort of threats did they make?

"Have you talked to the other girls?"

Karen shook her head. "I didn't want them finding me." She eyeballed Pam. "How did _you_ find me?"

"You told me your mom lived in San Diego." Not a direct answer, but Karen seemed to accept it at face value. Pam's gaze slid to the front door. "Maybe you should consider moving; do you have someplace else you can go?"

"I have a brother in Sacramento."

Pam nodded as if that settled the matter and silence descended on the room.

She was doing her best to check off all of Veronica's talking points, but she was struggling. Pam fiddled with the strap of her purse- anxious and uncomfortable and not at all like the woman Veronica had gotten to know over the past few days. Hearing that she was the dealer's prime suspect, along with the new chill emanating from Karen, had thrown her. It was time to intervene and end Pam's distress. "Sooo...Shenanigans- not a good place to work?"

Holding up her cast, Karen rolled her eyes, and smirked, silently asking, _what do you think?_ But then she relented, "The girls are nice and the money's good. The customers" —she shrugged— "they're… okay, I guess. Not sleazy like in some other clubs, but they have this attitude."

Veronica didn't need clarification; she understood that attitude. Entitlement. It was the shroud clinging to everything in Neptune. "And what about Joey?"

"Acts like he's the boss, but he doesn't do nothin' except stare at our tits; Sam's the one in charge."

Tilting her head, Veronica played dumb. "Sam?"

Karen and Pam exchanged a look. Whether it was Karen reprimanding Pam for not warning her about Sam, or if she was seeking permission to speak freely, Veronica couldn't be sure. The silent conversation continued with a slight nod from Pam and an answering shrug from Karen, which cleared the confusion. Permission.

It made sense. If Veronica was really just a dancer looking for a new job, hearing about Sam —with his mob connections and private parties— would probably make her tell Pam thanks, but no thanks. Obviously Karen's loyalty to Pam was greater than her desire to protect Veronica.

Maybe Veronica was wrong about the lack of conviction in Karen's voice earlier. Maybe she _did_ believe Pam was innocent.

"Sam is…" Karen's voice trailed off and she raised her face to stare at the ceiling, as if the right adjective for Sam could be found on its white plaster surface. "He's... distant." Her voice rose at the end of the word like it was a question. "He doesn't see us as _people_ , you know what I mean? We're a product. When he looks at you, he's not really seeing you. Oh, he'll comment on our looks —not enough makeup, hair's too short— but that's just marketing."

It was a very perceptive observation and Veronica was impressed. "Got it; anything else?"

"Yeah" —Karen leveled her with an intense stare— "Don't be alone with him."

The force of her words pushed Veronica back in her seat. "I won't," she promised, more for an absent Logan than for Karen. His bouncer plan was now the best idea she'd ever heard. Waiting a beat, she turned in her seat, directing her next question to Pam. "Why won't I be upstairs? What happens up there?"

To her credit, Pam kept her face expressionless, showing neither surprise or alarm, but she stumbled over the answer. "It's uh… for members and uh …private parties."

Veronica looked at Karen. "Did you work the parties?"

"Sometimes." She stood and started gathering the clothes from the chair. "I should pack if I'm gonna go to my brother's house." It was a dismissal; she didn't want to talk about the upstairs at the club. Not that Veronica could blame her.

"Do you want us to help?"

Pam's unexpected offer froze Karen in place. A deer in headlights, she blinked, and then bowed her head to stare at the pile of clothes in her arms. She wasn't going to pack anything. It was a ploy to get them to leave. Veronica wondered if she even _had_ a brother in Sacramento.

"No." Dropping the clothes on the coffee table, she said it again with more force. "No. I can do it myself. Thanks though." She glanced around the room. "It's not much and my mom will be home soon if I need help, but I don't… need help."

What was the line about protesting too much? Veronica was tempted to stay, if only to hear how many new ways Karen could tell the same lie. Instead she picked up her purse and stood. "Ready Pam?"

Nodding, Pam followed suit, taking up her bag and standing. "If you need anything, Ren, call me, okay?"

Karen mumbled something unintelligible; it could've been _I will_ , but more likely it was, _not a chance in hell_.

They walked through the door and Veronica paused on the other side of it, listening to Karen refasten the deadbolt and watching Pam navigate the metal stairs. Something was niggling the back of her brain, but the more she chased it, the further she pushed it away.

She walked after Pam, catching up to her at the car. "When did they threaten to hurt Tyler? Was it before or after they beat up Karen?"

Stopping mid-reach, hand poised above the car door, Pam craned her neck in the direction of Karen's apartment. "After." Her eyes clouded. "Do you think she was lying? And that she did tell them it was me?"

Veronica shrugged. It was possible. But Karen was also being tortured; she would've told them anything they wanted to hear. "Was it Sam and his guys, Mickey and Dom? Or was it our unknown dealers who threatened Tyler?"

"Sam." She jerked the car door open. "He was trying to be subtle at first- asking how old he was and if he'd started school yet. Sam _never_ asks about our personal lives." She slid into the passenger seat and waited for Veronica before continuing. "He said it must be tough being a parent because all you want to do is keep them safe."

Her voice changed, dropping a register to impersonate Sam's voice, "Don't you want to keep your son safe, Pam?" Her hands clenched and she thumped them against her thighs. "Then he said if I told him where his money was, he would make sure nothing happened to Ty."

Veronica had to commend Pam on her self-control. If someone had threatened Wyatt or Bailey like that, she would've clawed their eyes out.

"He actually called him _Ty_ , Veronica, like a benevolent uncle who _cared_ about him." Rage gave way to anguish, her face crumpling and her downcast eyes turning glassy.

"We'll…" Veronica almost said _get him_ , but Sam wasn't the target of her investigation. He was definitely _a_ bad guy just not _the_ bad guy. The idea was unsettling. It went against her moral imperative. She needed to solve the case _and_ make Sam pay. Joey too. If for nothing else than being a sleaze.

And speaking of sleaze. "Karen's warning about Sam — _don't be alone with him_ — what's the story there?"

Veronica checked the rearview while she waited for a response, and drove past the freeway entrance ramp, staying on University Avenue. It would be stop-and-go with the traffic lights, but it was a well-populated street, and she wanted to vary their route home.

"Same as the coke, Sam likes to sample the product before he buys." Her tone was flat and emotionless.

Veronica's gaze slipped to Pam —sitting upright, facing forward, and eyes staring blankly through the windshield— and asked, "By force?"

"No," Pam replied, shaking her head, and then she frowned, twisting in her seat to face Veronica. "At least, I don't think so… is that why you want the names of the dancers who quit?"

Nodding, Veronica slowed the car for the yellow light. Instead of stopping, she waited for the red and gunned the engine, blowing through the intersection while leaning on her horn. A check in her mirror confirmed that no one tried to follow.

"Is there someone behind us?"

"Just being cautious."

The traffic and their conversation slowed to a crawl as the street merged into Washington and approached the San Diego Freeway. Veronica took the highway. When they passed the airport, Pam slid low in her seat to watch a plane on approach. "Does Logan miss flying?"

How to answer that question? There wasn't much Veronica could tell her about Logan's job. _She_ didn't even know all the details, because she lacked the necessary security clearances, and also the technical understanding. Yet telling Pam he had his own plane just sounded pretentious. Veronica settled on, "He still flies."

"Does he miss the Navy?"

 _Yes_. Logan loved being home with the girls and he liked his job, but you don't find your calling —the thing you're born to do— and walk away from it without regrets. She knew this. Nine years of experience was a good teacher. Returning to Neptune and private investigation felt like finding a piece of herself that had been missing. She was satisfied with her life, both personally and professionally, and she worried the same might not be true for Logan. It was a sensitive subject in their house. Despite Logan's constant reassurance that he was happy with his choice, she still feared one day he might not be.

None of which she was inclined to share with Pam. "Not as much as he missed being home with Wyatt."

"I can imagine; he's completely devoted to her and Bailey."

Veronica smiled. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual. Wyatt takes the term 'Daddy's little girl' to a whole new level- as she does most things."

Pam laughed. "She's very spirited."

 _High_ -spirited, and the proof was on the front lawn as they pulled up to the house. Wyatt was running across the grass, charging toward Dick. When she got close, she jumped in the air for him to catch her. He grabbed her by the middle, lifting her over his head, and spinning in a circle. Her loud laughter traveled down the block. "Do 'gain!"

"My arms are tired, kid." He sat her on the hood of his Hummer, and she immediately wriggled free of his steadying grip with the obvious intent of climbing on the big SUV. Dick hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans, picking her up, and putting her on the ground. Before Wyatt could protest, he said. "Chill, your mother's here, and she doesn't look happy." Dick flashed his most ingratiating smile. "Hey, Ronnie."

"Dick." Veronica eyed the Hummer. "So… exactly how many times have you let her climb onto the roof of that monstrosity?"

A one-shouldered shrug. "We needed a break from all the baking."

"Me bate nolees, Mama." Wyatt threw herself at Veronica, wrapping her arms around her legs, and squeezing her knees. A big grin bloomed on her upturned face.

Veronica brushed her fingers across Wyatt's forehead, pushing back the hair, and then bent to kiss the top of her head. "Nolees?" The question and a raised eyebrow were directed at Dick.

"Cannolis. Ty and Wy" —he smiled at his rhyme— "helped stuff the shells."

"Where is Tyler?" Pam asked, crossing the lawn to join them.

"He's still baking. Little two percent got bored so we came out here." The easy use of Wyatt's unwanted and unwelcome nickname told Veronica that Dick used it way more than she'd suspected. As she opened her mouth to chastise him, he rushed to cut her off, saying, "Logan asked me to bring dessert for tonight."

Right, tonight - their date for Italian food. A family dinner… with Pam and Tyler and now Dick. Not at all what she was expecting. Veronica sighed. _At least there'll be manicotti, and I can drown myself in sauce and cheese_.

"I'll go check on Ty and get our stuff; are you ready to leave?" At Pam's question, Veronica's head jerked in her direction, a perplexed frown on her face. Smiling, Pam said, "We're going to eat at Dick's restaurant tonight, and then Dick's going to watch Tyler when I go to work."

"Little dude is going to be my sous chef."

Veronica didn't know when Logan had arranged this, but his name was written all over these plans. Did he corner Pam when she walked in the door at four-thirty this morning? _Look, you gotta go, because my wife is a jealous crazy woman?_ Whatever. Veronica didn't care how he'd managed it, just that he had. Even the thought of Dick being solely responsible for a child for an entire night didn't give her pause. Okay, maybe she was a _little_ concerned, but surely he knew how to dial 9-1-1, right?

Wyatt tugged on her shirt, and pointed to the Hummer. "Me cwime?"

Shaking her head, Veronica scooped her up. "Your climbing days are over. At least on that thing. Right, Uncle Rich?"

Wyatt's face scrunched and Dick chuckled. "If you want that name to stick, you need to stop calling me—"

"Yeah, I get it Dr. Seuss," Veronica said, cutting him off. "Let's go inside and you can show me your cannolis."

"That's what she said," Dick joked and Veronica rolled her eyes. Seriously, this was the man Pam was going to leave in charge of her child?

They trudged into the house en masse. As soon as the door closed behind them, Wyatt demanded freedom, and Veronica put her down, watching as she raced into the kitchen to _see the nolees_. The adults followed at a more sedate pace.

"We're making cannolis," Tyler announced to the room. He was standing on Wyatt's cooking-with-Daddy stool in order to reach the counter. Dottie was holding a cannoli shell while Tyler used both hands to squeeze the pastry bag, overstuffing it until the top started cracking.

There were two dozen pastries on the counter. Twelve neatly arranged and perfectly filled and twelve… not so much. A bag with unfilled shells waited nearby.

"I hope you're taking some of these with you?" Veronica peered into the big mixing bowl in search of filling. It was made exactly how she liked it, with ricotta _and_ mascarpone and a generous amount of chocolate chips. She dragged her finger through the cream and stuck it in her mouth.

Dick surveyed the trays. "Nope, I made the perfect Ronnie amount."

She rolled her eyes, picked up a cannoli, and was all set to take a bite when Wyatt piped up with, "Me eat?"

Veronica's gaze swung between the tempting dessert and a waiting Wyatt. Sighing, she put the cannoli down. Being a responsible parent and setting an example sometimes sucked. "After dinner, sweet pea." To distract her, Veronica suggested that they clean up. It was Wyatt's latest phase, wanting to _cwean,_ and she scampered off to get her mop and bucket.

The four adults —correction, the three adults and one Dick— managed to tidy the kitchen while the kids wreaked well-meaning havoc in their attempts to 'help.' Once everyone was gone, Veronica was finally able to wrestle the mop away from Wyatt, assuring her that there was in fact _more_ than enough water on the floor.

Wyatt stomped her foot in a puddle, making it splash. Grinning, she did it again, shouted, "Boots!" and raced from the room.

In her absence, Veronica shoved a cannoli in her mouth.

Logan's laughter made her spin around, almost losing her footing on the wet floor. She gripped the edge of the counter to catch her balance and grumbled, "Not funny," around a mouthful of her sneaked dessert.

"Oh, but it is, Lucy." Navigating his way through the water, he set the bags from Luigi's on the table. "Where's Ethel?"

"Getting her hip waders and a fishing pole, we're going to see who can catch the most fish," Veronica deadpanned as she swallowed the cannoli.

He shook his head, muttering, "Mira qué cosa que tiene la mujer esta."

Wyatt returned, carrying her red-and-black ladybug rain boots. "Daddy!" Tossing the boots, she launched herself at Logan. "Me… _I_ cwean."

"Are you sure?" He kissed her forehead. "Because I think the mop is supposed to pick _up_ the water."

She leaned over his arm to stare at the floor, nodding to herself in confirmation that the floor was spotless and Daddy was wrong. Squirming free, she sat in the water to pull on her boots.

Veronica left them to splish-splash, first to peek in on a sleeping Bailey, and then to get towels. Logan stole up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. "So how did Waterworld, the sequel, happen in our kitchen?"

"Dick. He actually filled the bucket." She turned, balancing a stack of towels. "I mean has the man not heard of _pretend_?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's experienced faking it" —Logan smirked— "But it had nothing to do with mopping."

Rolling her eyes, Veronica started for the kitchen. Wyatt was in a resting squat- knees bent, feet flat on the floor, and her butt in a puddle. She was smacking the water with a wooden spoon, making it splash, and her giggle. Veronica started tossing towels on the wettest areas.

Looking up, Wyatt saw what she was doing and frowned. "No, Mama."

"Uh…" Veronica stared at the towels for inspiration. "We have to… have a dance party?"

Dropping the spoon, Wyatt clapped, and then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Rain boots, towels, and water did not equal a dance party. Veronica dropped the rest of the towels to find her phone, searched YouTube for Chubby Checker, and hit play. Placing a towel under each foot, Veronica started doing the twist.

Wyatt jumped up. "Me do, me do."

Twisting across the floor to her, Veronica helped Wyatt get her booted feet on two towels, and then held her hands as they danced up the water.

"I expected to find a lot of pouting and crying… and for Wyatt to be upset too." Logan was lounging in the doorway, holding Bailey cradled to his chest. He'd changed into a worn pair of jeans and a crew neck tee.

Veronica pantomimed fake laughter at his unfunny joke and inclined her head toward the baby. "Did the music wake her?"

"Either that or, like a true Mars, she smelled pasta and cheese."

"Wabbit!" Wyatt clomped across the floor, stopping midway to sit and pull off her boots. Leaving them where they landed, she continued to Logan and Bailey. She bent her head back to see him. "Too tall."

He scooped her up with his free arm and she rested her head on his chest, face to face with her sister. Wyatt kissed Bailey's nose and patted her cheek. "Ni' nap, wabbit?" The baby gurgled at her.

Veronica picked up her phone, stopped the music, and took a picture of them. She needed this. A night of kitchen floods, messy children, and her husband. Veronica slid her arms around his waist, squeezing in between her daughters to lay her head in its place on his chest, right above the comforting thud of his heart. "You always know."


	14. Let's Stay Together

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He always knew what she needed...except when he didn't. Case in point - one paternity test. On that issue he was being purposely obtuse. It wasn't that he was ignoring her need, he just didn't _see_ it.

Last night was perfect in its ordinariness. They ate dinner, took care of bath time, and watched a movie before bed. They didn't talk about her upcoming audition, his job as bouncer, Pam, Tyler, or the case. It was a silent mutual agreement to shut out the world for the night. Unfortunately, she saw it as a _suspension_ of things they still needed to work out, and he saw it as a _resolution_ \- a return to status quo.

Veronica knew he felt this way. Evidenced by his words right before they had fallen asleep, _"We just need to keep this case separate from us, Veronica. From you and me and our family."_

But this case _was_ their family. Not the 'who stole the coke and cash' part, but the return of Pam and the existence of Tyler. Logan having a child with another woman would forever change their family and his blindness to that reality was frustrating.

She rolled onto her side to stare at his sleeping form.

He was half-sitting, half-slouching against a pile of propped-up pillows. Bailey was on his chest. Her pacifier —in danger of being washed away by the drool leaking from her open mouth— was clinging to the corner of her lips. Logan had one hand spread over the baby's back and in the other was an almost empty bottle. They'd clearly fallen asleep during Bailey's four a.m. feeding and not moved since.

Veronica kissed his shoulder and climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb them.

It wasn't that he was avoiding the problem, or pretending it didn't exist. For him the matter was settled. Pam said Tyler wasn't his. End of story. That left Veronica alone with this weight. She needed the results of the paternity test. If they came back negative, she could do exactly as Logan suggested- treat this like a regular case and compartmentalize, keeping their family life apart from the investigation. If they were positive, then…

She didn't know what would happen at that point, but at least she wouldn't be the only one trying to figure it out.

Keeping her shower short, she did her hair and makeup and dressed for her appointment, donning black leggings, an olive-green ribbed top with a handkerchief hem, and her go-to Rag & Bone leather booties.

Back in the bedroom, she checked on the baby. Her lips were puckered and she was sucking on air. She was patting Logan's chest in search of the now-missing pacifier and growing restless with her inability to find it, squirming and twisting her head. Logan was motionless.

Kneeling on the mattress, Veronica felt the sheets, and ran her fingers down his side, searching for the pacifier before Bailey started to cry. "Poking isn't my idea of foreplay, but I can work with it," Logan said, voice woolen with sleep and eyes still closed.

"You wish; I'm looking for her binky." She swore the thing was magical, immediately becoming invisible the second it fell out of Bailey's mouth. There had to be a hundred of them hidden around the house, mocking her and her inability to find them.

"More in the drawer."

Too late. Bailey opened her eyes, releasing a loud, plaintive cry. Logan jerked fully awake and bolted upright. He rubbed the baby's back, making soothing noises, to which Bailey responded by crying harder. "You'd think it was the end of the world."

"Mm-hmm, overly dramatic." Veronica stripped the covers from the bed, shaking out the blanket in search of the pacifier. "I wonder where she gets it from?"

"I'm just the right amount of dramatic, thank you very much." He pulled open his nightstand drawer. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed. "There are no more." As proof, he held up the empty MAM package. "Now what?"

"Gee honey, you'd think it was the end of the world." The sarcasm dripped. Getting on her hands and knees, she pressed her face to the floor, and scanned under the bed. Seriously, how far could the thing have rolled? It wasn't a ball.

"Why wabbit cwy?"

Great, now the entire house was awake, and she was going to be late. Getting up, Veronica bumped her head on the bed and muffled a curse. Wyatt stood in the doorway, clutching Cuddles and rubbing her eyes, waiting for an answer. "She lost her binky."

"S'okay, wabbit." Mimicking Veronica, Wyatt knelt on the floor and peered under the bed."Me get." She crawled into the darkness and returned with the pink and gray pacifier. Apparently, they were only invisible to adults. _Don't trust anyone over thirty_ should be the company's slogan.

Logan held out his hand and Wyatt shook her head, holding it tight to her chest. "Me do."

Complying with the request, he sat on the edge of the bed so Wyatt could reach. She wiggled the binky into Bailey's mouth until the baby realized what is was and clamped down. Blissful silence followed. "Poor wabbit." _An indictment of their parenting skills handed down by a toddler_. She kissed Bailey's nose and patted her cheek.

An affectionate smile curved Logan's mouth. "Okay, since everyone's up, who wants blueberry pancakes?"

"Choc'ate chip?" Logan started to say no, when Wyatt tilted her head to add, "Pease?" And Veronica knew he was a goner. Sure enough, he nodded agreement, and Wyatt slid off the mattress, skipping from the room, singing to herself.

"Don't say it." He held up a hand to silence her.

"Say what? That you're wrapped… easy… a pushover… a soft—"

"Hey, it's not my fault she's almost as irresistible as her mother. Besides, the baby whisperer" —he waved his hand over a now-sleeping Bailey— "deserves her chocolate chips. I might even put bananas in them."

"Be careful, Echolls, it's a slippery slope to caramel sauce and whipped cream."

"That sounds like _your_ kind of breakfast, not hers." He gingerly placed the baby in her co-sleeper. "But you know if you tilt your head and ask nicely, I might be persuaded to make it for you."

"Rain check. I have to leave, but Dottie will be here early so you can get ready." She tossed the blankets back on the bed and picked up the empty pacifier packaging. "I'll stop at the store and get more of these on my way home."

"Appointment?"

"I'm going to try and ID our not-so-friendly neighborhood drug dealers."

Stopping mid-nod, he frowned. She watched his expression shift as all the possible ways she might track down the dealers ran through his mind. Worry lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and his jaw clenched, lips thinning into a grim line; there was a little twitch in his left eyebrow, but he didn't say anything. Not with words. He stroked her cheek instead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and kissed her nose. Roughly translated - _I love you, please be careful_.

"Don't worry, I won't be trolling dark alleys looking to score; I'll be in a nice" —she stressed the word— " _safe_ office, staring at a computer screen."

"So I only need to worry about eye strain and carpal tunnel and" —his hands slid down her back and cupped her ass— "secretary spread."

She tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to contemplate his dilemma. "Too stressful for you? Because I could always strap on my gun and head down to the corner of Seventeenth and K."

"You could… if you wanted to kill me and make it look like natural causes."

Veronica smiled. "Since I'd rather keep you around, the office it is." Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head forward for a kiss.

"Daddeee!" The impatient bellow from the vicinity of the kitchen broke them apart and sent them in different directions- Logan to get a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, and Veronica to the closet for a jacket.

They walked down the hall together.

Wyatt was sitting on the kitchen floor, a big mixing bowl squeezed between her legs. Measuring cups, wooden spoons, and a lone fork were scattered around her, and she was struggling to rip open the bag of organic, whole grain pancake mix.

"Guess she started without you."

Logan smirked. "I should know better than to keep a Mars waiting for food." He crossed the room, shutting cabinet doors as he went. "Need some help?"

Raising her face, Wyatt grinned at him. "I cook." He sat on the floor with her and she held out the bag. "Daddy do."

Veronica went to get her keys and purse and then returned to the kitchen to say goodbye. Wyatt accepted the kiss on her cheek, but was too busy pouring chocolate chips to acknowledge Veronica's leaving. _Priorities_.

It was only a twenty minute drive to the FBI building.

She'd considered taking the photos to Leo. The SDPD was at the forefront of facial recognition software. For years everyone in the department, from the regular beat cop to the top brass, had been using handheld devices to amass a huge database of photos. There had been challenges to the practice, by both regular citizens and civil liberties activists, but it still continued. So, for all of two seconds, Leo made sense. But then she'd decided there were already too many exes in their lives. Plus, she couldn't ask Leo for her other favor.

She made the U-turn necessary to reach her destination and parked in the front lot. The white-brick, windowed building was just as bland as she remembered. Fortunately, security moved faster this time around, granting her access to the lobby with five minutes to spare. Veronica cut across the tile floor toward the elevators and was stopped by a guard at the desk. "Can I help you?"

"I have an appointment with Special Agent Townsend; I know the way."

Standing, he shook his head. "Visitors need—"

"Veronica Mars." Gil Townsend emerged from the elevator with one long stride. "It's good to see you again."

"We need to stop meeting like this." She pointedly looked around the lobby. "Friends don't make friends wait for personal escorts through the building." They shook hands. "Haven't I earned a hall pass?"

An enigmatic smile crossed his face as he waved toward the elevator, allowing Veronica to precede him.

He'd sent a gift when Bailey was born, but they hadn't seen each other since Gina's shooting. Lamb had wanted to arrest her for killing Gina and Logan had immediately called Gil. He'd come to the house, surveyed the scene, and said it looked justifiable to him. A clear case of 'defense of others.' He didn't have jurisdiction, but his presence, and the ongoing FBI investigation of Gina's involvement with the Sinaloa cartel, were enough to smooth things over with Lamb. Veronica owed him one.

"How's Wyatt doing?"

Veronica waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. "A little wary of strangers, but no more bad dreams, and she's still swimming."

Gil nodded. "And you?"

"Working a new case that could use an assist." She knew his inquiry was about her mental state, but that was a subject better left for… never. "Specifically from the FBI's Next Gen ID System."

An arched brow and silence were his only responses.

Unlike most people, Veronica didn't rush to fill the conversational void, remaining quiet until the elevator doors _whooshed_ open and they were walking toward his office. Same open bullpen, but instead of weaving left through the cubicles, he went right. "New digs?"

"New, but not improved." And he wasn't joking. It was an exact duplicate of his former office. Veronica didn't understand the point of the switch if it wasn't for more space. She shrugged. God and the government both worked in mysterious ways. "What do you have for me?" he asked, waiting for her to sit before taking his position behind the desk.

"Photos." She took the four printed stills from her messenger bag and laid them on the desk followed by a thumb drive with the digital images. "Can you run them through IPS?" The Interstate Photo System used the biometrics of facial recognition to comb through millions of images.

"These two won't work" —he pushed aside the pictures of the dealers taken as they walked up the back stairs of Shenanigans— "Not enough detail." The other two photos he moved closer and took his time studying. "I'm guessing these are not fine, upstanding citizens?"

"You got it in one." She touched the photo of Sam's henchman. "He works for Sam Carlucci, mobster and part-owner of a strip club called Shenanigans. I think his first name is Dom… Dominick."

A deep frown marred his brow.

Before he could voice his concerns about the mob and her safety, Veronica pointed to the other photo. "He's a drug dealer. I'm thinking low-level aiming for a promotion. He, and his associates" —she waved at the two discarded photos— "tried to sell five kilos to Sam at twenty grand apiece."

"Tried?"

Veronica nodded. "During the buy, both the cash and drugs went missing." She sat back. "I was hired to find out who stole it."

"You're working for Sam Carlucci?" He managed to sound both outraged and disappointed at the same time. It was such a good dad voice, Veronica almost asked if he'd been chumming around with Keith.

"Of course not." She sketched in the details of her case, omitting Pam's name and her prior relationship with Logan. "My client got me a job at the club —I start tomorrow— and before going in, I'd really like to know the names of all the players."

As he considered this, his pen started tapping a steady beat on the edge of his desk. "I'll see what I can do with these - ask around about Carlucci and his associates." The pen stilled. "What happens when you find the thief?"

"I turn them in to protect my client." The ramifications of that scenario were clear and unpleasant. Veronica just hoped she could find something to nail Sam to the wall _before_ it came to that. Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you know anyone who can do some DNA tests for me?"

"There are plenty of private—"

Veronica cut him off with a shake of her head. "I've already collected the samples." Her statement let him know this wasn't your standard testing while still being vague enough that he could have deniability about pesky things like legality and consent.

An appraising stare from Gil. "I have a friend." Taking a legal pad from his desk, he wrote the name, Oscar Jiménez, a phone number, and an address. "He owes me a favor." He ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it in half, and held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger. "And now _you_ owe me one."

Smirking, she said, "I think the line is: someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me."

A deep appreciative chuckle rumbled from his chest. "But until that day, accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day."

Veronica rolled her eyes, plucking the yellow sheet from his fingers. "Call me if you get anything from the photos."

"Will do." He stood and walked her back to the elevators. "Give Logan my regards." Leaning into the open elevator car, he pushed the button for the lobby, and blocked the door with his forearm. "And tell Wyatt Gilly said hi."

She nodded as the doors closed between them.

It was too early to pick up her lunch bags of DNA from Wallace's apartment. Veronica figured he was probably in the middle of teaching health class. _Kids, this is what happens when you have unprotected sex - one day your future wife will steal your DNA for a secret paternity test_. She could always use her key, but she needed to give Gil time to get in touch with his friend.

Starting the car, she turned her head to stare at the freeway.

She should go to the office. Mac would be done with the rest of the background checks by now, including the one on Sam. An outstanding warrant for a crime with a lengthy prison sentence would be too much to hope for, but his police record would make interesting reading. His and Joey's.

They also had to discuss Amber. She'd decided against asking Mac to create a backdated outcall permit. The request would draw too much attention to what she was planning to do and she didn't want Mac —or Keith— to know she was undercover as a stripper. Instead she'd make Amber's history follow her own. Replace Stanford with stripping at the Seventh Veil, exchange her gap year with a stint dancing in Reno, and swap Columbia for entertaining at bachelor parties in New York, and they were practically twins.

Now all she'd need from Mac was a way to link Amber to her deceased great-aunt, Anne. Veronica frowned. Maybe she could turn on the phone service at the decoy house and make the utility bills come in Amber's name.

Go to the office. That's what she _should_ do, but what she _wanted_ to do was see Logan.

Her eyes moved to the dashboard clock. Even after she factored in the half hour drive to his job, it was too early for him to take lunch. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Mac could always email the background checks. Taking out her cell, she sent Logan a text: _You and me - lunch? What do you satay?_

A few seconds passed and her phone chimed with: _Your pad (Thai) or mine?_

Smiling, Veronica tapped out her response: _Yours, curry puff. Noon_.

She sent one more text to Mac, asking her to email whatever information she'd gathered, and tossed her phone on the passenger seat. Putting the car in gear, she left the parking lot.

Proper weekly date nights weren't feasible. They only trusted four people to watch the girls and they didn't want to exhaust those babysitting options. It was easier just to meet for lunch. Sometimes Logan would come to her, but it made more sense the other way around. Her schedule was flexible.

Charm Thai Kitchen was a frequent haunt. Small, with raw wood walls, a quiet corner booth for two, and good food. Veronica could kill an hour drinking Thai iced tea (and reading her email from Mac) while waiting for Logan. Best part was, the staff would leave her alone, while silently refilling her drink and letting her hog the table without complaint. Being a regular had its privileges.

Veronica got her tea and an order of cream cheese wontons and took them to her table. Opening her laptop, she went right to Gmail. The message from Mac had six attachments and contained two words: call me. Wanting her call to fly beneath Keith's radar, she avoided Mars Investigations' main number, and dialed Mac's cell.

Without preamble, she said, "You need to open the PDF named Sam."

"Hello to you too, old buddy, old pal, old friend of mine." As she spoke, Veronica double-clicked the attached file. The first page contained a complicated flowchart. Half of the boxes were empty; the other half contained names like Carl Enterprises, SCE Holdings, and Prism Capital. "Want to tell me what I'm looking at?"

She scrolled through the pages of corporate records while Mac talked.

"I went back to the original incorporation papers for Shenanigans and noticed that shares of the club were owned by a company called Exotic Ventures with an address in the Seychelles." Her voice rose with excitement. "When I searched the address, I found _thousands_ of hits for different websites and businesses linked to it."

"Thousands?"

Mac continued, "I used LexisNexis to identify owners and corporate officers, and looked on Who Is to see who registered the website domains. There's also an entire online database with leaked offshore accounts."

With a new understanding, Veronica went back to the flowchart and followed the arrows. "Exotic Ventures is owned by EM, Inc., which is owned by SCE Holdings - they're shell companies."

"Exactly. So far I've been able to tie five of them back to Sam, but there could be more; I'll keep digging."

Veronica frowned, unsure if she should have Mac continue to search. Sam owning shell companies was interesting, but in and of itself, the information meant nothing. There were legitimate reasons for shell companies and offshore accounts. "Instead of searching for more companies, can you see what other assets these entities hold? I doubt Sam put together this shell game just to hide his ownership of Shenanigans."

"I can try, but it might be easier if I knew how this all worked. Don't suppose you know any forensic accountants?"

"No" —she banged her forehead on the edge of the table— "But my dad does."

It was the same accountant who, back in the day, investigated the missing money from Logan's trust fund. Not only a certified public accountant, she was also a certified fraud examiner, and whenever Keith had to 'follow the money' on a case this was the person he called. If Mac went to Keith for the name, he would want details. Details Veronica didn't want him to have. She banged her head on the table again. "Scratch that. Let's wait a few days; see what you can find on your own before we get the accountant involved."

Mac chuckled. "In other words, don't tell Keith what I'm doing."

"I didn't say that - _you_ did."

"Because I speak Veronica. Maybe not as well as Logan, but I get by." Mac paused for effect. " _Aaand_ speaking of your dad, he's been looking for you."

"Without finding me?" Veronica _hmphed_. "I mean really, what kind of detective is he? Can't locate his own daughter. They should pull his investigator's license." She glanced up at the sound of the door chime and watched Logan approach the table. "I need to go, my assignation is here."

He smirked at the word choice, leaning over the booth to kiss her as she hung up the phone. "It's a very G-rated place for an afternoon tryst," he said, before kissing her again.

"I'm sure you could make it work." He dropped onto the bench across from her, his long legs invading her space. Veronica tucked her legs between his knees. "Of course, the Holiday Inn _is_ just down the road." That was another frequent lunch spot for them.

"Good times." His gaze caressed her face, slid down her neck, and over her body, turning up the heat in their cozy booth. ""It would be worth getting fired to spend the rest of the day in bed with you."

"Okay" —she smiled— "But let's eat first; you're going to need the energy."

"Tease." Picking up her hand, he kissed her fingers, and directed a pointed look at her laptop. "Is this a working lunch?"

"No," she said, shutting the computer and returning it to her bag on the floor. "But I've got a question."

"When do you not?" An indulgent, amused grin toyed with the right corner of his mouth.

Veronica found it comforting that he could still be charmed by that quirk in her personality. "How did you set up the shell companies to transfer the ownership of our house?"

"There's a company in Wyoming that incorporates shell and shelf—"

"Shelf?"

Their food arrived. More cream cheese wontons for her, tom yum soup for him, and chicken pad Thai for two. Logan must have ordered on his way to the table. Veronica dunked a wonton in the plum sauce, waiting for their server to depart and Logan to answer her question.

"You create a company that remains inactive. It sits on a shelf aging until you need it for nefarious purposes, like hiding your millions from the divorce attorney." He poked at his food. "Aaron had one."

It was probably his insurance policy in case Lynn decided to leave him. She'd sold her soul —and her son— to the devil in exchange for botox and designer clothes. Logan's feelings about his mother were conflicted, but Veronica's not so much; Lynn had failed.

"Mac has uncovered six different shell companies connected to Sam." She outlined the ownership of Shenanigans. "Any idea what he's using them for?"

Shrugging, he speared a piece of chicken. "Maybe he's trying to avoid paying taxes."

 _And maybe they were serving sno-cones in hell._ "I found Karen; Pam and I went to see her yesterday." A quick lift of his eyebrows beckoned for her to continue. "She was… off. I couldn't even tell if she _liked_ Pam, one second she acted friendly and the next downright chilly." Veronica stared across the restaurant, mechanically eating her last wonton.

Logan called her name, undulating each syllable, and waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked. "Sorry, just trying to nail down what bothered me."

Reaching over the table, he used his thumb to free her bottom lip from her teeth. "That's no reason to maul my favorite lip; you'll figure it out."

She kissed his thumb. "It's not that… on our way to Karen's, Pam said that a few of the girls quit working when the parties degenerated. It was actually _Karen_ who told Pam what was happening and then, during our meeting, Karen warned me away from Sam. Her exact words were, don't be alone with him."

Logan followed her train of thought without a problem. "You think Sam raped Karen?" She nodded and his expression turned grim. "If Pam hired her, put her in that situation, it could explain the iciness."

"That's possible." Averting her face, she focused on the ceiling fan. A confluence of events, impaired people, and a rape. It was a situation all too familiar to her. She hugged her chest. _Pam could be the target of Karen's rage, just as Madison was the target of mine. Or maybe I'm just seeing shadows on the wall._

"Hey," he whispered, calling her back to the present. His face was ashen. "I don't like this, Veronica. The idea of _you_ in that club, surrounded by scum. There has to be another way." Logan extended both hands, palms facing out, and Veronica pressed hers to his, interlacing their fingers.

"There isn't." She squeezed his hands. "But you'll be with me the entire time."

He shook his head. "I just don't understand your _insistence_ … do you know they did a study and found that _one hundred percent_ of dancers were physically assaulted inside the clubs where they worked?"

"Statistics, really? What did you do, search Google for ways to scare Veronica?"

"Yeah, it said: outlook not so good." He smirked. "No wait, that was the magic 8-ball." The sarcasm did little to mask his feelings; his doleful eyes gave him away. He stroked his thumbs over hers. "I can go undercover by myself —plant bugs, talk to the dancers, search the VIP rooms— and feed the information to you."

The memory of Gina holding a gun to his chest, threatening to kill him in front of their daughter was still raw. "And if something happens to you? How is that any better?"

"At least I won't have to live with myself."

She frowned at him. "Together, Logan; we do this together."


	15. Fire Meet Gasoline

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Together.

Yesterday, he'd accepted her terms and then made a few of his own demands. No being in the club without him, period. She had to carry her gun. And, if there was even a _hint_ that her cover was blown, she needed to leave the club immediately - do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

The requests were few and reasonable and she'd readily agreed. Maybe a little too quickly, because Logan hadn't seemed convinced of her sincerity, making her repeat the list back. He'd been so serious, she'd thought he was going to require a blood oath. Which is why she wasn't surprised he'd stayed home from work today.

It was audition day.

Veronica burrowed deeper into the bed, snuggling closer to Logan. He kissed her neck. They were spooning on his side and trying not to fall off the edge. Wyatt had crawled beneath the covers during Bailey's feeding, commencing a hostile takeover of the mattress, and was now occupying a full half of the king-size bed. Sprawled on her back, arms and legs flung wide, she was a footed-pajama-wearing starfish.

"How can someone so little take up so much space?" Logan murmured the question, lips pressed to her skin.

Veronica rolled in his arms to face him. "Sheer force of will?"

Stroking his thumb over her cheek, he smiled and touched his nose to hers. "Just like—" She cut off his words with her mouth, giving him a long, unhurried, good morning kiss. His hand glided down her back, settling on her ass, and his knee slipped between her thighs. He was slow to end the contact, his lips returning for another taste or two before pulling back to say, "You can't kiss me like that when we have tiny visitors in our room."

"Sure I can." She kissed him again, swallowing his groan. "It's my prerogative."

With his fingertips, he gently traced the contours of her face, and the curve of her cheek. "I love you, Veronica Mars."

"Then how 'bout getting me some breakfast?" Her stomach growled on cue, causing him to grin. "I've been dreaming about cannolis for the past three hours."

"First, I thought all your dreams were about _me,_ and second—"

"Oh, you were there; I was licking cannoli cream off these fine, fine abs." Her fingers smoothed down his stomach and dipped lower, toying with the waistband of his boxers. She batted her eyes at him. "I may have licked other things too."

His eyes darted to Wyatt and back. "You're a mean, cruel woman."

"A mean, cruel, _hungry_ woman." She threw a leg over his body, rising to her knees to straddle his waist. "Who also needs to start getting ready." She attempted to get off the bed and he cradled her hips, holding her in place.

"You have to wait until I call Pam."

It was his final demand - that he be present during her audition for Joey. He'd argued that it fell under the 'no club without him' rule, and she'd vetoed it as a bad idea. If his first time in the club coincided with hers, they'd be connected in Joey's memory. They might as well just wear 'I'm with Stupid' t-shirts.

She sat on his stomach. "The club is closed in the morning; no one else will be there."

"Exactly my point."

"It's a job interview, Logan. We'll talk, I'll dance, and then I'll come straight home- an hour tops." Leaning forward, she kissed him. "I'll even put my gun in my purse before I go."

"You'll do that anyway, but I'm still going. Pam will walk me around the club, explaining the job and my responsibilities —a training session— and Joey won't even notice me."

Shaking her head, she pried his fingers from her body and stood. "Section four, paragraph six, subsection 22 of our partnership states that _I'm_ the one with the detective experience. And I say, you stay home."

"You're not going to distract me with your lawyer-speak, even if it does turn me on." Sitting, he swung his legs off the bed. "We're past the fighting stage of this case, remember? It's all about togetherness." He got up, closing the space between them and returning his hands to her hips. Ducking his head, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Now what do you say we practice that _togetherness_ in the shower, counselor?"

Their absence from the bed disturbed Wyatt. She popped up from the mattress, words spilling out of her mouth as if she'd stored up ten hours of conversation in her sleep. "Me eat 'rina… sinman." Grabbing Cuddles by the ear, she slipped off the bed and held out her hand, palm up, questioning. "Appo too, okay?"

Logan laughed. "Looks like someone else was dreaming about food."

Wyatt peered into the co-sleeper to look for Bailey. "Time get up, Wabbit."

They scrambled to reach her —Logan over the bed and Veronica around it— before Wyatt could shake the bassinet and wake the baby. He got there first, scooping her off the floor and onto his shoulders. "It's not time for Rabbit to wake up."

She leaned over his head, trying to see his face. "Yes," she said with the resolute determination that only a toddler could muster.

He smirked. "Sure, _now_ she knows the word yes." He carried her toward the door. "Bathroom first, and then we'll have farina with cinnamon and apples for breakfast."

Veronica watched them leave before checking on Bailey. Head turned to the side, the baby was sucking her binky and staring through the mesh with unfocused, bleary eyes. If the room stayed quiet, there was a chance she'd fall back to sleep, but it was doubtful. She was probably hungry, and she'd start to cry as soon as she realized nothing was coming out of the pacifier.

Tiptoeing across the room, Veronica got the bag with her costume from its hiding place in the closet. Logan deciding to stay home made leaving the house dressed for her audition slightly more complicated. She took down her black trench coat. It would cover the see-through halter dress, but the shoes were a problem. The metal studded shoes looked like what they were - stripper shoes.

Veronica shrugged. He knew she wasn't running off to join a convent.

Bailey was fussing, kicking her feet and waving her arms. Tiny cries of _neh, neh_ were increasing in volume. Veronica dumped her stuff on the bed and picked up the baby before the mewling turned into wailing. "I'm sorry your sister keeps waking you up, Rabbit." She stuck her finger in the baby's mouth, letting her suck on it while she got settled in the comfort rocker to nurse. "She firmly believes that if she's up, we should all be awake."

It was the egocentric, it's-all-about-me stage of development. Unfortunately, Wyatt's arrival in their room at four a.m. had undermined Veronica's strategy for leaving Logan behind this morning. Hopefully, making breakfast would keep him distracted long enough he'd miss his chance to call Pam.

Without speaking to her, he wouldn't be able to arrange his dry run as bouncer. Even if he did manage to phone, Veronica's new plan was to be dressed and out the door by the time Dottie arrived. It would give her at least a thirty minute head start while he got ready; if her luck held, she'd be halfway through her audition before he showed.

She brushed the soles of Bailey's feet with her finger and gently blew warm air across her face to keep her from going back to sleep, encouraging her to take a full feed.

Dancing in front of Pam in rehearsals made Veronica stiff and uncomfortable. The idea of dancing in front of her when she was _with_ Logan was… troubling. It increased her anxiety level higher than the thought of performing for Joey-the-Perv.

She absently twisted her wedding and engagement rings with her thumb. She'd never had a problem going undercover, pretending to be someone else, but she'd also never done it with Logan. The five minutes at the Sunset Regent when they were looking for Lynn didn't count. This was a prolonged period of time where she would have to pretend to not know her husband. Worse, she would have to do it while watching him with Pam, and listening to the rumours about their relationship.

Bailey was done. After burping her, Veronica changed her diaper then tried nursing again, but the baby wasn't interested, sucking for comfort instead of food. She got a pair of sweatpants, put Bailey in a pastel-striped romper and headed to the kitchen.

Logan was trying to get Wyatt to eat a slice of turkey bacon. She shook her head, nose wrinkling in distaste; Veronica silently agreed with her. "It's just like regular bacon," he coaxed. _Yeah, if you were missing some taste buds_.

Wyatt was having none of it, declaring, "No like," and returning to her farina.

Veronica eyed Logan's plate of scrambled egg whites with spinach and whole wheat toast, echoing the _no like_ assessment of their daughter. She kissed Wyatt's head, draped the sweatpants over Logan's shoulder, and put Bailey in her bouncer. "She's fed and changed and ready for some Daddy time." Crossing to the fridge, she kept her back to them, and smuggled out a leftover cannoli. "I'm going to shower."

"What about breakfast?"

"I'm good," she said around a mouthful of pastry, hustling from the kitchen to the sound of Logan chuckling.

She rushed through her shower, wanting to spend more time on her hair and makeup. The advice from Pam was to dress like she would when performing. It made sense, but Veronica didn't know how to define her own personal stripper style.

Deciding to affect the look that worked on Logan, she created shimmery smokey eyes and applied a dark kohl liner. She used a little brow powder for definition, applied a peach glow blush, and completed the look with nude lipstick. Leaving her hair down, she used a wide flat iron to create a wavy look with loose, bouncy curls, and declared herself done. She donned her costume and covered it with the trench coat.

For a second, she considered sneaking from the house without saying goodbye, but Logan would freak. He'd probably come racing to the club dressed only in the sweatpants she'd brought him. The kitchen was empty. Frowning, she walked through to the living room. Also empty. "Logan?"

"He left already," Dottie answered from behind her.

Startled, Veronica whirled around. Dottie was carrying Bailey in one arm; with the other she was holding Wyatt's jacket and the diaper bag. "You're early," she said, wincing at her slight accusatory tone.

A quick negative shake of her head. "Logan called me last night with the time."

 _Tricky bastard_. Sometimes it sucked having a husband who knew her so well. He'd used _her_ ploy and executed it better. Acting all laid-back while eating a leisurely breakfast and the entire time he was plotting to beat her to Shenanigans. He'd probably talked to Pam _days_ ago.

Dottie lifted the hand with Wyatt's jacket, explaining its need, "I'm taking the kids to the aquarium as soon as Tyler's done helping Wyatt accessorize. Think she's going to choose flippers and—"

"Tyler's here?"

Nodding, Dottie put the diaper bag on the coffee table. "Pam dropped him off when she picked up Logan."

Thereby confirming her suspicions about his call to Pam. Veronica didn't know if she should be angry or impressed. But she didn't have time to stew about it now. She said goodbye to Dottie, suggested a warmer outfit for Bailey, and left the house without interrupting Wyatt's fashion search.

Veronica drove in the same direction as the aquarium. Too bad Logan hadn't confided Dottie's plans for the day. They could've joined the kids after the audition. She loved exploring the tide pools with Wyatt and walking through the hall of fishes, but Veronica seriously doubted her outfit would pass muster with the other mothers lunching in the Splash Cafe. The dads might like it, though.

This time she was prepared for the turn, finding the narrow, winding road with ease and climbing the cliff toward the club. She pulled up to the driveway gate, located the intercom box on the stacked stone pillar, and rang the bell. A sultry female voice announced, "Shenanigans," like she was answering a phone instead of the door.

"This is Amber; I have an audition with—" The connection went dead and the wrought-iron gates parted.

Veronica followed the curving, tree-lined drive. The tumbled bluestone pavers led her past the trees to a clearing with breathtaking views of the ocean, and a mansion that looked like it belonged on a plantation.

A valet was waiting to take her car. Veronica turned over her keys and stood in the drive, staring at the antebellum manor. The gable-fronted house with its fluted columns and paned double-hung windows was beautiful and unlike any strip club she'd ever seen in her life. _Stop dawdling_. She climbed the steps to the portico. As her foot hit the landing, the double wood doors swung open with such precise timing, she wondered if there was a sensor.

"Amber?" A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped through the doorway. "I'm Joey Bianchi," he introduced himself, moving closer and invading her personal space. His bulk was imposing. Veronica started to extend her arm to shake hands and he turned away, walking inside with the high-handed expectation she'd follow. "You know Pam from Vegas?"

"Reno," she corrected, and he waved away the distinction as unimportant.

"How long you been dancing?"

Pam was older than her by four —almost five— years, which made it necessary to age up Amber so Veronica knew the precise answer. Yet being too exact would sound false. "Off and on since I was eighteen."

"Where else have you worked?" His voice bounced around the marble foyer, creating an echo. He caught her staring at the twin mahogany staircases and said, "Nice, right? Nothing but the best for my customers - no expense spared."

Veronica was sure those expenses were paid with someone else's dime, namely Sam's. "I was at The Seventh Veil and then I moved to New York- no clubs there, mostly private parties." The word choice was intentional.

Joey took the bait. With a new gleam in his eyes, his gaze roamed over her body, taking inventory and reassessing the interview. "Your coat part of the act or can we leave it here?"

'Here' was the coat check closet. She hadn't planned on getting almost naked until it was time to dance, but the coat wasn't part of her routine, and Amber wouldn't be shy. Veronica undid the belt, slipping off the Burberry and passing it to him.

He took a slow walk around her in a tight circle. There was no touching, but she could feel him looming over her. When he'd completed his survey, he tossed her coat across the counter, and said, "We do private parties here; you could make real money if you're willing."

There was no end to that sentence: willing… to do what? Perform live sex shows, prostitute herself, spend time on his version of the casting couch? The possibilities were endless. Veronica gave him a non-committal shrug. She'd brought up the parties to open the door for later questioning. Asking too many now would seem odd. He was interviewing her, not the other way around.

She followed him through a set of open doors to the right of the stairs. From Pam's crude blueprints, she knew this was the former library and location for one of three satellite stages. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, but the focus was the stage. Custom Chesterfield leather sofas and lounge chairs were arranged through the space, each with an equal vantage point.

There was no sign of either Logan or Pam.

"We're going to use the main stage." Joey pointed, indicating she should lead the way.

How did Karen put it? _We're a product_. Well, Veronica definitely felt like produce. She could feel his eyes giving her ass a thorough inspection for freshness.

The walls between rooms were removed, creating an open floor plan, and the library flowed into the ballroom. Veronica paused, looking back to Joey for direction.

"You can give your music to the DJ." Nodding toward the booth, he took a seat in a leather chair the color of old parchment. Made to resemble a wingback, its rear legs were lower to the floor, creating a comfortable reclining position that provided easy viewing.

The DJ booth was discreetly tucked away beneath the staircase landing. Veronica's gaze wandered upward. It was as Pam described, a balcony that overlooked the main floor. She passed the DJ a USB stick, which he accepted with a salute and sly leer.

On her way to the stage, she heard Pam, "—be working here."

Fighting the urge to turn around, Veronica waited for the music to start. Her timing was perfect, reaching the pole in sync with the line: _and I just can't resist the urge to stand here in the light_. Joey was a rapt audience. A little too rapt. His intense focus was creeping her out. Pam's advice —think of Logan and dance for him— had her gaze moving past Joey in search of her husband.

His back was to her. Posture rigid, tension turning his spine to steel, he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

They weren't alone. Another woman was with them. A tall brunette with doe eyes and skin-tight jeans. She was talking to Pam and casting occasional glances at Logan. Tight jeans said something and jutted her chin toward Veronica, making both Pam and Logan turn in her direction.

Veronica hooked a leg around the pole, crossed her ankles and did a corkscrew turn. She body-rolled herself up and looked to Logan. The tension in his frame was different now. It was a subtle shift, but one she recognized. _I get off on you, getting off on me_.

He smiled at something Pam said, nodding his head, and not breaking cover. But his eyes were on Veronica, following her every move. She climbed the pole, inverted her body, and slithered her way to the floor. Raising her arms, she undid the tie of the halter dress and slid her hands down her body, peeling the dress away from her skin. The tip of Logan's tongue flicked over his bottom lip and his hand touched his belly. His sex tells. Unmistakable to her, and unnoticed by anyone else. Veronica's heart thudded with the beat of the music.

 _It's so much more exciting to look when you can't touch_.

She held onto the pole, pulled her leg back into a wide circle and hooked herself around it in a backward spin, ending the routine on her knees. Tearing her eyes away from Logan, she faked a smile for Joey who shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. "You can start tonight at nine, but come early so Pam can get the paperwork squared away."

Veronica redressed while he talked. The job offer posed a dilemma. She hadn't planned on starting tonight; she was thinking tomorrow at the earliest. With both her and Logan working at the club, they'd need to switch Dottie from days to nights _and_ come up with a reason that wouldn't raise Keith's suspicion. But she certainly couldn't explain this to Joey. Childcare was a real-person problem, and she wasn't a person to him, only a commodity.

Logan bent his head, whispering something into Pam's ear, and she stepped forward. "Tomorrow night would be better."

And sometimes it _didn't_ suck to have a husband who knew her well.

Frowning, Joey stared at Pam, clearly annoyed by her undermining his authority. "What are you doing here?"

"Showing the new bouncer around." With her finger, she beckoned Logan closer. At his approach, Joey stood and shook his hand while Pam made the introductions. Again, there was an invasion of personal space, but this time Joey puffed out his chest and put his hands on his hips. He was trying to exert dominance, intimidate Logan, and it wasn't working.

There was no cowering. Logan pulled himself up to his full height, hands at his sides, and his head held high. No tension in his posture; he was relaxed, but ready. The glint in his eyes said, _go ahead and try_ , and it matched the daring smirk on his face.

Joey backed down, putting distance between them and returning his attention to Veronica. "Tomorrow night, then. Be here at eight."

Tilting her head, Veronica smiled at him and said, "I will, and thank you so much." Her simpering tone soothed his ego.

"And come see me when you're ready to work the parties." His gaze landed and lingered on her chest, then dipped lower. "You'll be a big hit."

Although tempted, Veronica didn't dare look at Logan. She gave Joey another flirty smile. "I'll _definitely_ come see you." His answering smile bordered on obscene. Not bothering with further pleasantries, Joey turned on his heel and sauntered from the room. Now she looked at Logan. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were flint. Remembering they weren't alone, she said, "I'm Amber, by the way."

He took her proffered hand in his, surreptitiously stroking his finger across the center of her palm, and said, "Logan."

He let go of her hand as Tight Jeans joined them. Pam introduced her as Reina Fields. _The_ Reina Fields, friend from Vegas who had sex in the champagne room, and earned a hundred and eighty grand last year. "It's nice to meet you," Reina said with the same sultry voice that answered the front gate earlier.

"Same here." They shook hands. Veronica was torn. Part of her wanted to stay, ask some questions, but the bigger part of her wanted to go home and put on clothes. Or, if she was reading the situation right, take them all off. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I promised The Boy I'd be home after my audition, and I don't want to keep him waiting" —she paused for an intentional beat— "He can be a bit of a jerk about these things." Veronica felt rather than saw Logan stiffen at the comment. She grinned. This stint undercover could turn out to be fun.

"Been there, done that." Reina brushed her hands together as if to say, _good riddance_. "I'm going to head out too."

With a wave, Reina took her leave, and Veronica followed suit, returning to the front door to collect her coat. The valet had already retrieved the BMW. He was standing next to the car, keys in hand, waiting for her. This was taking servility to the extreme. Just how wealthy were the customers at Shenanigans? And were they all from Neptune?

Thanking the valet, Veronica got in the car and took off down the drive. As she approached the wrought iron fence, a black Hummer lumbered up behind her, Logan at the wheel. She smiled in the rearview and blew him a kiss, pushing down on the gas pedal and shooting through the still-opening gate. She'd correctly read his tells. Veronica increased her speed to match the anticipation rushing through her. This was going to be way better than lunching at the aquarium.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the mirror, she weaved in and out of traffic. She didn't want to lose him, but she didn't want him to catch her either. When they were a few blocks from the house, she floored it, running through the intersection as the light turned red. She made a wide turn at the corner and cruised slowly down the block and into the driveway. Keys in hand, she crossed the lawn and climbed the steps of the porch.

Logan reached the house seconds behind her, the slam of the car door signaling his arrival. Veronica turned the key in the lock, then reached inside to turn off the alarm and drop her bag. Footsteps on the stairs, and his arm coiled around her waist, spinning her around to face him. His mouth covered hers, rough and possessive. She scratched her nails across his scalp, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, returning the kiss. They tumbled through the open door.

Yanking his mouth away, he asked, "Kids?"

"Aquarium."

"Good" —he kicked the door closed— "Because I think you need some practice."

Veronica blinked. "Practice?"

"Mmm-hmm." Hands in her hair, he pulled her head back to kiss down the column of her throat. "Your routine - it needs a little work." He walked her backwards toward the garage. Nimble fingers undid the belt of her coat, while his mouth reclaimed hers in another demanding kiss. Sliding the coat from her shoulders, he pushed it down her arms, letting it puddle to the floor.

Reaching behind her, Veronica blindly fumbled for the doorknob to the mud room. She twisted it open and grabbed the front of his shirt, leading him through the room to the garage. "Based on this reaction, I'd say my routine was perfect."

"Well, I am a bit of a jerk about these things." He nipped her bottom lip and then sucked it into his mouth to soothe the sting. His hands cupped her ass, knee slipping between her thighs. Jeans scratched the sensitive flesh as she rubbed herself against his leg. Logan pressed his lips to her ear. "Dance for me," he rasped, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

Nodding, Veronica returned her feet to the floor and stepped away. Curling her fingers in the waistband of his jeans, she tugged him forward, guiding him to the workout bench. She released her hold. Running her palms up his chest to his shoulders, she pushed him down. Logan tracked her movement across the garage to the CD player. She changed songs. The opening strains of piano filled the space. _It's dangerous to fall in love, but I want to burn with you tonight_.

It was very different. Dancing at the club, compared to performing for Logan here. There it was just a show, and she'd used him to get through it. To forget about Joey ogling her. Knowing she'd turned Logan on had bolstered her confidence, but she hadn't felt sexy. Her routine was just that - a routine.

This felt more intimate. It was seduction. Watching his eyes darken with lust turned _her_ on, heat pooling low in her belly and making her breasts heavy. She slithered down the pole and rolled her body. Tossing her hair, she looked over her shoulder to see him and he was off the bench, stalking toward her. _We're bristling with desire, the pleasure's pain and fire_.

His hand stroked the curve of her ass, sliding to the small of her back and up her spine, pushing her lower, her body bent over. Veronica let her head fall forward and tightened her grip on the pole. She could feel the hard length of him through his jeans as he pressed himself against her. Rotating her hips, she pushed back, grinding into him.

Logan gripped her hips, stilling her movements. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her g-string and yanked, tearing the flimsy material. It fell to the floor; a triangle of black silk on concrete. With his thigh he spread her legs wider. Rough denim grazed her sex and she moaned.

"Are you wet?" Reaching around, he cupped his palm over her, and slid two fingers deep inside. He pumped his hand, scissoring his fingers and then crooking them forward, stroking her g-spot. "Wet and ready."

He pulled them out and stroked her clit, back and forth, spreading her wetness. Adding his thumb, he scraped it across the tip. Veronica's legs trembled; her breath loud and ragged. Logan kissed her spine. "I'm going to make you come for me."

He increased the pressure, sliding her clit between his fingers. Pleasure rocked through her. Logan braced his chest against her back. His other hand dipped beneath her dress, gliding over her belly to cup her breast. He teased her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it at the same time he tugged her clit.

Veronica came hard and fast.

"Beautiful," he murmured, lips brushing her spine, and then he was gone. Veronica felt the loss. Turning her head to look for him, she started to rise and let go of the pole. Logan gripped her wrists, bringing her hands back to the metal bar. "Keep them there," he growled, voice rough. Her pulse stuttered.

He moved behind her, guiding the tip of his cock into her. Need made her strain against him, trying to take him deeper. He pulled out. "Don't move."

Grabbing her hips, he shoved his way inside, and she arched in response. A low groan escaped her. He pulled completely out and did it again, over and over. Thrusting deeper with each stroke, her back bowing to accommodate. His grip tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her skin. Tension coiled in her belly, cinching tighter with each deep slam. She clutched the pole, trying to remain upright. The sound of his body slapping against her ass echoed through the garage.

Hands slick with sweat started to slide down the pole, bending her lower until her wrists touched the floor. Veronica's body shook, her orgasm making her knees buckle. " _Fuck_ ," Logan hissed through clenched teeth. He chanted the word with each frantic thrust until he was coming deep inside her.

Then, slipping out, he sank to his knees and lifted her from the floor, cradling her on his lap. Logan brushed the damp strands of hair away from her forehead and kissed her. "That was incredible, _you're_ incredible." He showered kisses across the bridge of her nose. "I love you, Veronica."

She wound her arms around his neck and he gently rubbed them. "I love you, too."


	16. Love and Money

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They wound up in bed for a repeat performance. It was slow and loving-less frenzied, but still just as satisfying. And this time they remembered the condom. Logan kissed her shoulder, splaying his fingers over her belly. "Don't even think about it," she warned.

"Thinking won't make it happen." Nuzzling her neck, he sucked on the hollow above her collarbone. "Didn't anyone ever teach you the birds and the bees?" His fingers caressed her stomach, then started walking lower. "Because if you need a demonstration, I'd be happy to oblige."

"I know where babies come from." She stopped his hand, pressing it to her skin. "They come from the aquarium… _soon_."

Logan nipped her earlobe. "Plenty of time."

"For a nap." Smiling, she snuggled closer.

"Not if you keep wiggling your ass against me like that." Wrapping his arm around her, he kissed her temple and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

Veronica closed her eyes. A nap did sound good, but she still had to look at the rest of the background checks Mac had emailed yesterday and she had to find a babysitter for tomorrow night, which might mean it was time to expand their childcare horizons. "Where's Jake these days?"

"Dottie convinced him to rent a house off base." Logan chuckled. "Despite her best efforts to domesticate him, he's furnished it with a mattress and a flat screen." 

"He did that on purpose just to frustrate her." Their ongoing mother-son battle—time to settle down versus enjoying bachelorhood—was amusing to watch. Probably because it wasn't serious. Dottie would drop hints about grandchildren, and Jake would do something like buy a motorcycle and call it his new baby. "Think he'd watch the girls tomorrow?"

"Maybe, if _you_ ask him." He kissed her shoulder. "People find it hard to say no to you."

"Really? Because you never seem to have that problem."

Logan snorted his dissent with her statement. "You could always pitch the babysitting as a way to prove he's not ready to be a dad." Which was completely untrue, because Jake was great with the girls. "And you may have to bake for him."

Nodding, she trailed her fingers along his forearm. "So what did you think of Shenanigans?"

"Creepy as fuck. The only things missing were the ghost twins and a hedge maze."

Veronica agreed. There was definitely more going on than stripping and sex shows. "And Reina?"

"She remembered me from Vegas." He shrugged. "Apparently, I met her once when I was visiting Pam."

That wasn't the greatest news in the world. Gossip was one thing—it could be ignored or denied—but Reina being able to create an _actual_ link between Logan and Pam was not good. That meant Pam had hired not one, but two, old friends in a matter of days. Suspicious for sure. Veronica frowned. It was too late to change her cover story now. She needed to solve this case fast and get out. She nudged Logan. "It's time to get up, we have things to do."

"I thought we were going to nap, Chatty Cathy?"

Removing his arm from her chest, she rolled off the bed. "I need to check my phone and put my gun back in the safe and you need to call Tomás to see if he can bring the money over today." She grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a scoop neck tee from the dresser, pulling them on as she left the room.

Her bag was still on the floor inside the front door. She checked her phone. There were no missed calls, but there was a text from Agent Townsend instructing her to get back to him. Scrolling through her contacts, she found his number, and hit the phone icon. He answered, "Special Agent Gil Townsend."

And she responded, "Private Investigator Veronica Mars."

"Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten me into." A long sigh accompanied the complaint.

"It's nice- another _nice_ mess" —she shook her head— "Never mind. I'm taking it from your butchering of Laurel and Hardy that you found something using my photos?"

"You were right about one of them, his name is Dom, but I'm not sure he works for Sam - he's his nephew, Dominick Carlucci. I'll send you his sheet, it's long and industrious, but no serious time."

Dom being Sam's nephew changed Veronica's view of him as suspect. Would he steal from his own uncle? As they say, if you can't trust family…

Of course, he could've stolen the drugs at Sam's behest. It was _possible_ that Sam orchestrated the theft himself, then made a show out of accusing the dealers and dancers. This would let him keep his money and get five kilos of coke for free...but Veronica didn't think it was _probable_.

According to Pam, Sam was looking for a new supplier, presumably to provide party favors to the customers at Shenanigans, so stealing from them would not be good for business. He'd have the stolen coke, but no pipeline for more. Unless he was happy with his current suppliers and he'd been planning to rip them off from the very beginning? Veronica made a note to find out who set the meeting. "What about the other guy?"

"Ethan Callahan. Busted a few times for possession, but he was never carrying enough to charge him with intent." Typically an intent to distribute charge required the person be holding more than needed for personal use. "I'm checking his known associates, see if I can ID your other two, but… Callahan is too much of a guppy to be swimming with a shark like Sam Carlucci."

She narrowed in on the description of Sam. "Shark?"

"He's not a nice guy, Veronica. He's been suspected of everything from prostitution to drug trafficking, but nothing ever sticks. You remember what they used to call John Gotti? The Teflon Don? This guy is like that only better, they never even get him to trial."

And the hits just keep coming. Her hope of getting Sam arrested, thereby freeing Pam from his grip, went up in smoke. "Any more good news for me?"

"No, but I put some feelers out with other agencies, maybe they'll have more to tell us." Veronica started to thank him for his help when he interrupted. "Oh, and Oscar said you can bring your DNA samples by any time tomorrow."

Before hanging up, Gil promised he'd call on Monday if he learned anything new. Veronica plugged her phone in to charge and carried her bag to the bedroom.

Logan hadn't moved. Stretched across the bed on his stomach, head buried in the pillows and naked, he made a tempting invitation. Taking out her gun, she depressed the lever and removed the magazine. "You're supposed to be getting up to call Tomás." She pushed the release and pulled back the slide.

"Are you going to shoot me?" He asked without opening his eyes, voice muffled by the pillow.

"And ruin my favorite plaything? Hardly." She pinched his ass and he smacked her hand away.

"I'm not just a piece of meat, Veronica. I have _feelings,_ the foremost one being tired." He rolled onto his back, folded his arms behind his head. "But I might wake up if the sexy woman with the gun came back to bed."

She checked the open ejection port and then stuck her finger in the chamber, making sure it was clear. Then she locked the gun in the safe. "If you _don't_ wake up and make that call, the chances of me coming back to bed are exactly zero."

"Well huh, I guess it's a good thing I've already taken care of it." With a flourish, he produced his cell phone from beneath the pillow. "He'll be here by six," he finished, tossing the phone on the mattress.

"He's got it all, folks- looks, feelings, and brains." Veronica planted her knees on the bed and crawled up his body. "I'm a lucky girl."

"Who's about to get luckier." His hands glided over her hips and up her rib cage, taking her shirt on the same journey. It was too slow. Crossing her arms over her chest, she grabbed the hem of the tee, and pulled it off, tossing it on the floor.

An explosion of sound erupted at the front door in the form of a crying baby, a preschooler shouting about feeding lobsters, and a toddler singing, "Five fish swim sea" at 200 decibels.

Logan pressed his forehead to hers. "Science is wrong; the loudest animal on earth is a tiny human." He fell back on the mattress. "Seriously, an F-35 is quieter."

"Is someone grumpy?" Veronica climbed off the bed. Locating her t-shirt, she put it back on, and then tossed Logan a pair of shorts. "Maybe you should've taken that nap."

If it was possible, the Five Little Fishies song climbed a few more decibels as Wyatt got closer. "Tease shark, no cat' me." It was accompanied by stomping feet, one or two thuds, and finally a smack on their door. "Mama!" The doorknob started twisting.

Without getting up, Logan pulled on the shorts as Wyatt flung open the door. "Ma—" Spotting Logan, she changed her cry to, "Daddy" and raced across the room to climb on the bed. "Me go wareium."

"Did they let you fish?" Her confused head tilt made Logan tug the bottom of her fishing vest. Tan with neon green fish sewn on the pockets, it was part of her Props-in-a-Box collection and a gift from Aunt Trina. The kits included character props, backdrops, and access to a movie making app. Trina had bought the entire series, declaring _'acting is in her blood, Logan.'_ And he'd muttered something close to _'over my dead body,'_ but with more colorful language.

Veronica left them making fish faces at each other and went to get Bailey. Walking down the hall, she picked up the trail of items Wyatt had left in her wake - boots, plastic tackle box, rubber shark, and a tiara. She put them all on the kitchen island.

Tyler was sitting at the table having milk and cookies while Dottie tried to feed Bailey. The baby was not cooperating, twisting her face away from the bottle and kicking her feet. "I'll take her." Bay immediately settled into Veronica's arms, expecting to nurse and was mad when the bottle was put in her mouth. She scrunched up her face, preparing to howl. Veronica engaged in a complicated swing, sway, and squat dance to calm her. "How was the aquarium?"

"It was cool!" Tyler dunked his cookie, shoved it in his mouth, and talked around it. "We got to touch the fish 'n there were seahorses." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "We weren't s'posed to climb on the rocks, but we did."

She smiled. There was no doubt in her mind that rule-breaking Wyatt led the charge on that adventure. The dance wasn't working. Bailey refused to suck on the bottle, letting her mouth hang open, allowing milk to drool down her cheek. "Okay, you win; I surrender." She glanced at Dottie. "If you want to escape, now's your chance to make a break for it; we're home for the rest of the day."

"I might tunnel my way out, meet your dad."

A worried expression crossed Tyler's face as he looked between Dottie and Veronica. _I'm not thrilled at being alone with you either, kid_. Thankfully, she wouldn't be. "I'll feed this one and send Logan out."

Tyler relaxed: Logan-who-flies-planes was home.

Were there team-building exercises for families? A way to make your husband's potential illegitimate child like you? There was probably a book- Step-Parenting for Dummies, or, 101 Ways to Bond with Your Stepchild. All of which sounded exhausting.

She didn't have to tell Logan he was needed in the kitchen-he was already leaving the bedroom with Wyatt on his shoulders. Veronica inclined her head toward Bailey. "I'm going to feed this one and there's milk and cookies in—"

"Cookies!" Wyatt bounced on his shoulders.

He shook his head. "We're just two ships that pass in the hallway." Leaning forward, he attempted to kiss her, but another bounce from Wyatt threw him off course. His lips glanced off her chin.

Veronica briefly touched his cheek. "We'll always have the garage."

Their daughters were staring at them with matching expressions. The meaning of the look could be deciphered as either _you're denying us food_ or _our parents are weird._ It was probably both. She left him to complete his mission for milk and cookies and went inside to nurse Bailey. Happy and content to have a non-bottled lunch, the baby took a full feed without any prompting, and fell asleep with minimal fuss. Veronica put her in the bassinet and then indulged in a quick shower.

When she returned to the kitchen, Dottie was gone and Logan was slicing an onion. "What are you making?"

"Carrot soup, I think."

"You don't know?"

He shrugged, staring at the recipe on the counter. "We don't have fresh ginger or dill and I'm using half and half instead of heavy cream." A ziploc bag with marinating lamb chunks was sitting on the island next to piles of mushrooms, tomatoes, and cut bell peppers. Their barbecue skewers were lying on the cutting board.

"Want some help?" Without waiting for a reply, she washed her hands and started building the lamb kebabs. "Where are the kids?"

"I caved and let Wyatt watch _Finding Nemo_." The word _again_ was missing from the end of his sentence, but it was heavily implied. "She's eating goldfish crackers, which just seems wrong."

Smiling, she asked, "What about Tyler?"

"Pam picked him up a few minutes ago; she left those papers for you." He waved toward the kitchen table. Veronica's gaze swung from the lamb to the table and back to the lamb. Logan hip-checked her out of the way. "Go ahead, I'll finish this."

She cleaned her hands and took a seat at the table. The papers were Pam's partnership agreement with Joey. It was standard boilerplate, starting with _this agreement is entered into_ and ending with the signatures. The names were in that first paragraph: Joey Bianchi Exotic Ventures and Pamela Mitchell. There were no commas, which made it look like Joey and Exotic Ventures were one entity.

The shared profits and losses section was worded the same way. Seventy-five percent was assigned to the vague amalgamation and twenty-five percent to Pam. Veronica stared out the window. Either there was a side agreement between Joey and Sam as to their split, or Joey had a vested interest in the shell company.

Returning to the agreement, she skimmed the clauses as to managing partner and the signatures on checks —both Joey— and then read the paragraphs pertaining to the company books, properties owned, and voluntary withdrawal.

If this was strictly an above-board partnership, Pam could give sixty days written notice of her intent to withdraw and walk away from Shenanigans. Depending on the net worth of the business, she'd be entitled to the value of her interest or a return of her initial investment. But this wasn't a normal situation with your average business partners. Pam was trying to extricate herself from the mob.

"Pam's been partners with Sam from the very beginning." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "They buried his ownership with imprecise language."

Logan crossed to her side, picking up the sheaf of papers. Veronica pointed out the different passages and he asked, "Why bother to hide it from her? It's not like Pam checked out Joey before signing; the addition of Sam wouldn't have changed her mind."

"Maybe it wasn't about keeping it from _her_? Maybe Sam doesn't want his name on anything." She told him what Agent Townsend said about Sam's reputation of being untouchable. "What did you say when you transferred our house - the beauty of a shell company is your ability to hide? Sam's hiding."

Logan nodded, returning the contract to the table. "But how does any of that help us?"

It didn't. At least not yet, but it was something. Mac was already trying to disentangle Sam's various holdings. If they got Keith's forensic accountant involved, maybe they could find proof of illegal dealings and Veronica could bring in the authorities. She could paint Pam as a whistle blower instead of a patsy and it would be a win for everyone. High fives all around. Veronica smirked. _And that'll happen when the Padres win the Series._

She flipped back to the provision regarding property. The creepy beachfront mansion wasn't listed. Veronica would bet that it was owned by a different bogus company. She'd have Mac check the real estate taxes for a name. It would give her another lead to follow.

And speaking of other leads, she went back to the paragraph about the corporation's books. The accountant responsible for the annual review of the financials was listed in the agreement. Fingers crossed he worked for Sam and not Joey. Trying to bring down Sam would be easier with an insider. She'd have Mac see what she could dig up on the man. "What was the name of that accountant who became famous for being an informant?"

There was no answer. Veronica looked up from the contract to an empty kitchen. Logan was gone, along with the lamb kabobs. Getting up from the table, she peeked in on Wyatt, who had fallen asleep on the couch, spilling goldfish crackers on the cushions and floor. Veronica contemplated waking her. It was late for an afternoon nap. If she slept too long now, she'd never go to bed on time.

Veronica clicked off the television. The sudden silence didn't disturb Wyatt's slumber at all. Thanks to Bailey, Wyatt had been up and down several times last night, and obviously needed the sleep. With a resigned sigh, Veronica let her be and followed the tantalizing aroma of smoke through the french doors to the deck.

Logan was reclining on the cushioned chaise lounge —legs stretched out, eyes closed— sipping a cup of coffee. The click of the door must have alerted him to her presence because he said, "Tomás called, he's on his way."

"Okay." She crawled onto the chaise with him, settling between his legs and stealing his coffee. "Why did you leave?"

Draping his arms over her shoulders, he kissed her head and asked into her hair, "Did you even notice?"

"Eventually." Sipping the coffee, she eyed the barbecue. "Aren't you supposed to be watching the lamb?"

"I'm waiting for _your_ charcoal to be ready." Using the arms of the chair, he pushed himself up and effortlessly swung his leg around her to stand. He crossed the deck. "Now, if I had a gas grill, we could be eating as we speak."

" _You_ would be eating, and I'd be ordering a pizza." Nestling deeper into the warm spot left behind by his body, she ogled the bunching and flexing of his well-defined back as he put the food on the barbecue. "You should always cook shirtless."

"And you should always be naked, but alas, some things aren't meant to be." Turning around, he leaned against the deck railing, crossing his legs at the ankles. "We could spread the hundred grand on the bed and _both_ get naked, roll around in it for a while."

"Money doesn't turn me on, but I like the 'naked' and 'bed' parts of that sentence." She abandoned the chair and the coffee, moving closer to him. "Just be prepared to do more than roll around."

"Yes, ma'am." His gaze locked with hers and then he frowned. The teasing flirtiness of the moment passed. His eyes grew serious, darkening to the deep umber hue of concern as he studied her face, seeing something he didn't like. Placing his palms on her shoulders, he smoothed them down her arms and took hold of her hands. "Are you okay?"

Nodding, she offered him a reassuring smile and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "I'm fine now, but" —she jutted her grin toward the grill— "if you burn my dinner, all bets are off."

Logan didn't seem convinced, raising a skeptical eyebrow, but he remained silent. Letting go of her, he turned to the food and flipped the lamb kabobs. She used the moment of distraction to head inside.

Wyatt was sitting with her eyes open, but she was still and quiet, lost in the transition between sleep and wakefulness. This drowsy state was ideal cuddling time. Veronica picked her up and sat in the corner of the couch, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. Wyatt snuggled into her chest with a sigh. It wouldn't take long for her to shrug off the remains of sleep and start itching to get down —there were worlds to explore and messes to make— so Veronica soaked up the moment.

She gently combed her fingers through Wyatt's hair. There was nothing troubling her; Logan was wrong. Well, maybe not entirely wrong. The man was too perceptive when it came to her moods. Calling her out on stuff she wasn't prepared to talk about or was actively trying to avoid. Like now.

Wyatt lifted her head, leaning back to see Veronica. "No nap," she said, lips puffing out in a pout, as if the cuddling and the hair stroking were evil tricks designed to put her to sleep. She wriggled off Veronica's lap and slid from the sofa. Confused, she turned in a slow circle, pausing to stare at the television. "Where Nemo?"

Not wanting any more TV time tonight, Veronica chose to misconstrue the question. "Home with his daddy; remember Dory helped him?"

She hesitated, first giving Veronica the suspicious head tilt with narrowed eyes, and then nodding. "Dory help."

"Now why don't you help me pick up your crackers?"

"Okay." Squatting, she started to eat the ones that had fallen on the floor, making them swim into her mouth and crunching them between her teeth. "Bye-bye, Nemo." Logan was right - that did seem wrong.

Veronica swept the remaining goldfish from the sofa into her palm and carried them into the kitchen. Forgetting about cracker cleanup, Wyatt trailed after her, doing a spot-on-perfect imitation of the Tasmanian Devil, whirling and spinning - a toddler tornado. With a sudden stop, she looked at Veronica, and asked, "Milk?"

"Blue cup or green cup?" They were identical except for the color, but if Veronica chose wrong, there could be a meltdown.

"No. Me do." Flinging open the doors to the tupperware cabinet, she disappeared inside. Out flew bowls, lids, a sandwich keeper, and a large pitcher. She crawled from the cabinet with a spaghetti keeper, thrusting it at Veronica.

"This is for… " _Pick your battles_. "...a lot of milk; you must be thirsty." She poured a cup of milk into the keeper —barely filling the bottom— and snapped on the red lid before handing it to Wyatt.

She fitted her mouth around the dispensing hole in the lid and upended the container, sending milk down her chin and cheeks, across her shirt, and all over the floor. Unfazed, she said, "Mmm," and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Logan's arrival in the kitchen coincided with the doorbell. His gaze moved from Wyatt to the milk puddle to the containers on the floor and he smiled, remaining as unruffled as their daughter. Setting the platter of lamb on the counter, he asked, "Your choice, the milk or what's behind door number one?"

"Definitely the door." Veronica left him to do damage control.

A check of the security camera told her Tomás wasn't alone; he'd brought his cousin with him. She opened the door and nodded toward Weevil. "Is this your idea of backup? Because I can take him with a head tilt and hair flip."

Tomás grinned, dimples creasing his round cheeks. "Can't everybody?"

Weevil tried to hide his smile by leaning in for a hug. "You're not as cute as you think you are."

"Sure I am, just ask Logan." She stepped back, allowing them room to enter. Tomás walked in first, carrying a slim, black leather briefcase. "I have to say I'm a little disappointed." Veronica closed the door behind Weevil. "I expected a metal case handcuffed to your wrist and maybe—"

"A big sign that says rob me?" Weevil asked, shaking his head. "You watch too many movies."

"Wait, are you telling me James Bond isn't real?"

When they reached the kitchen, Wyatt was in her booster, and Logan was trying to feed her carrot soup. Head bowed over the bowl, she was scowling at its contents. "No like." She flashed him a hopeful smile and asked, "Pita?"

"No pizza."

Her scowl returned, magnified tenfold, and Weevil chuckled. "Now I see the resemblance to her mother."

Logan looked at him. "Uncanny isn't it?" He substituted the carrot soup with her plate of lamb and a small bowl of yogurt dipping sauce. It wasn't pizza, but the sauce provided the opportunity to make a mess, which was on her list of favorite things. Wyatt dunked her entire hand in the sauce and shoved her fingers in her mouth. Logan smirked. "And she has the same table manners as Uncle Eli."

"At least I've _got_ manners, white boy."

"That just cost you your dinner invitation," Logan said, rising to shake Tomás' hand. "You of course are more than welcome to join us. Weevil can stand in the corner and watch us eat."

"Isn't that your regular spot?" Weevil bumped Logan's shoulder. "In the corner with a dunce cap?"

Tomás ignored their familiar antics and placed the black attache on the counter. His expression sober. "Thanks, but I need to get home."

"His wife keeps him on the same short leash Veronica makes you wear." Weevil put his hand close to his neck and yanked, miming the pull of a choke collar.

"I don't _make_ him wear it - he likes it." Veronica smiled. "Don'tcha honey?" Logan flashed her a wicked grin and bobbed his eyebrows, eliciting a disgusted gagging noise from Weevil. The sound made Wyatt giggle.

Tomás shook his head. Opening the briefcase, he withdrew a thick zippered bag and some papers. He set the bag alongside the case, handing the papers to Logan with a pen. While Logan read, Tomás looked around the room. "Where's Bailey?"

"Napping." Veronica took plates down from the cabinet. "Are you sure you don't want some lamb? Or something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine." Tomás ran a finger around his collar, pulling it away from his neck, and then smoothed his hand down the front of his tie. "And how's your dad?" He blinked. The same Maybelline lashes as his cousin, fluttering against his cheeks.

Frowning, Veronica hugged the plates to her chest. "He's good."

Nodding, Tomás asked, "And Mac? Wallace? How are they?"

Logan paused mid-signature, pen still pressed to the paper, and looked up, gaze moving from Tomás to Weevil and then to Veronica. _What gives?_ She shrugged in response to his silent question.

Tomás shifted his weight and covered the security pouch with his hand. Of course, the money.

Veronica relaxed, putting the plates on the table. "You can stop running through the names of everyone we know. It's not a ransom demand; they're all fine and Bailey really _is_ napping."

"Blackmail?" Weevil asked and Tomás shot him a _be quiet_ look.

"Ah, the truth will out, you're here because you're _worried_ about us," Logan said, returning the signed papers to Tomás in exchange for the pouch. "Would you believe Veronica needs new shoes?"

Weevil smirked. "I might believe it was for your hair product."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, green is an ugly color on you, Mr. Clean." Logan's _tsk-ing_ had Wyatt wagging her sauce covered finger at Uncle Eli, and both men laughed.

Veronica slipped in between them, plucking the security bag from Logan's fingers. "It's for a case I'm working." Balancing the blue nylon bag in her palm, she judged its weight-a little heavier than a liter of soda. She tried to unzip the bag, but the tab wouldn't budge. Logan reached over, flipping a small metal plate to reveal a keyhole. Veronica held out an open hand. "Key please."

"After dinner."

Her answering scowl caused more laughter from Weevil. "You're right, the resemblance _is_ uncanny."

Tomás snapped his briefcase closed. To further set his mind at ease, Logan re-assured him that once the case was over, he'd be redepositing the money. "As soon as Veronica's done with it, I'll bring it to your office." They shook hands again, Logan thanking him for coming, and they started walking toward the front door.

Weevil hung back. "This case- you need any help?"

She was about to turn him down, then changed her mind. There was still the decoy house to furnish and… "Can you get me a car from your Uncle Angel?" She wasn't overly worried about taking the BMW to Shenanigans for her audition—its ownership was well-hidden thanks to Logan's paranoia—but Amber needed her own wheels. Plus the car would strengthen her cover story.

Nodding, Weevil asked, "When do you need it by?"

Veronica crossed the room, pulled a legal pad from the drawer by the phone. "Tomorrow?" She knew it was a long shot, but she wanted the car in place before she officially started work at the club. "It needs to be registered to Amber Sharp at this address." She scrawled the information for the decoy house on the top sheet, ripped it off, and passed it to him.

"No promises, but I'll see what I can do." He read the information, folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. "Anything else?"

"Furniture. Can you make a trip to a thrift store to get some things for that house?" She waved toward the pocket where he'd put the address. "A twin bed and bedspread, an area rug, throw pillows-"

"You want me to... _decorate_? " His mouth twisted into a grimace. "I look like Martha Stewart to you?"

"The resemblance is uncanny," she said, turning his earlier words against him. "Don't worry, I'll text you a list of stuff to get."

Resigned to doing her bidding, he sighed, turning to leave, and Veronica took her place at the table.

Wyatt was almost out of dipping sauce—wearing most of it on her face and shirt—and was starting to grow restless in her booster seat. Veronica poured more yogurt dressing in the bowl, and eyed the five paperback books sitting on the hutch - her cocaine stand-ins.

"Oh, and one more thing." Her words stopped Weevil at the door. "Can you ask around about an Ethan Callahan? Small time drug dealer. Local, I think. Find out who his friends are, see if he's flashing around large sums of cash?"

"I'd rather play Better Homes and Gardens." He shook his head. "First hot cars and now drug dealers… can't you just stay home and bake?"

"Bate?" Wyatt perked up. "Cookies?"

"Yeah, exactly kid. Your mommy should stay home and bake cookies." Wyatt nodded in agreement and Weevil smiled. "But since that ain't gonna happen" —he refocused on Veronica— "will you at least be careful?"

"Always am."


	17. The Lost Art Of Keeping A Secret

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Veronica spread the bundles of cash on the table. Ten in total. Each stack contained one hundred brand-new $100 bills and was bound with a mustard currency strap that read 'ten thousand dollars.' She picked up a bundle and fanned the bills.

Last night, Logan had tried to make her wait until after dinner for the key, but he'd quickly given up when she'd left the kitchen, only to return with her lock-picking set. He'd retrieved the key from their safe and watched her as she'd played with the money —stacking, bending, and folding it— until it was time for him to leave for Shenanigans. Then Veronica had been too busy with baths and bedtimes to consider the pile of cash.

It didn't take up much space. She stacked the bundles on top of each other, creating a brick of cash approximately eight inches high. With older bills —ones that had been in circulation— the pile would be taller, but still manageable. If you weren't naked.

She rolled one of the bundles, nose crinkling in distaste when she considered the places you could hide it in the human body. Condoms and lube might have been two of the 'props' Pam made sure were in the room. But really, how could you not notice someone lubing Trojans stuffed with coke and cash? No one could ever be _that_ distracted.

Veronica looked at the clock. It was time to leave. Returning the money to the security pouch, she locked it, and stored it in the freezer, giving a new meaning to the phrase _cold hard cash_. "Ready for our educational trip to the lab, Rabbit?"

Bailey kicked her feet, gurgling, _ah, ah, ah_ , which Veronica took as a yes. Whenever they could, Veronica and Logan would swap girls on Saturday mornings for alone time. It was only for an hour or two and then they'd meet for lunch. Today was his turn with Wyatt. They'd taken a cab to the USS Midway so Wyatt could see the "big boat" and Veronica was going to meet them at the Corvette Diner later.

It gave her just enough time to swing by Wallace's apartment, collect the DNA samples, and go visit Gil's friend, Oscar. She double-checked the diaper bag for the essentials and put a gray-and-white striped cardigan on the baby. Slinging both messenger and diaper bags over her shoulder, she picked up the car seat and carried Bailey outside.

With a longing look at the BMW, Veronica unlocked the mom van and snapped the car seat into its base. She pulled the sun shade down. "Now no one will see you riding in this embarrassing car- you're welcome."

The baby smiled her thanks and Veronica popped a binky in her mouth. "Feel free to fall asleep; we can bond later while you're eating."

She started the car and used the hands-free to call Wallace. When he answered, she asked, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Getting ready to leave. We have an exhibition game versus Scripps Ranch this afternoon." Bailey shouted something unintelligible from the backseat and Wallace chuckled. "Sounds like she's almost ready to join Pep Squad."

"Not bloody likely." The idea of either of her daughters at Neptune High, never mind as part of the Pep Squad, was the stuff of nightmares. "Can you do me a favor?" Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. "Can you pack the lunch bags and dry ice from your freezer in the diaper bag I left there?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Bring it downstairs to me in say… ten minutes? I'm on my way now, but it's a pain in the" —she glanced at the baby in the rearview and changed her sentence— "It's difficult to keep taking her in and out of the car." It wasn't so much lugging her and her stuff, it was the crying that ensued when the engine stopped.

"Why can't all your favors be this simple?"

"Because then you'd lose interest and chase after some other detective, begging to do them favors." She took the entrance to the freeway. "I need to keep you on your toes."

"Begging?"

"Sure, that's the word you'd choose to focus on," she grumbled. "Hey, if you want a more complicated favor, you can babysit the girls tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow's Sunday - isn't that family fun day?" His voice was muffled and there was rustling over the line. Veronica assumed he was doing as she asked and transferring the paper bags.

"It is, but Logan and I are planning to have our own fun after dark."

"Why must you say things like that to me? It's bad enough having to _watch_ the two of you together; I don't need to hear details."

Smiling, she slowed for the Carmel Valley exit and said, "Best friends share, Wallace. Case in point, who had to listen to you gush about your date with Laura last week?"

"Lara," he corrected. The _ding_ of the elevator doors sounded behind him. "And all I said was, we went to Kokoro for dinner and saw the new George Clooney movie."

"Well, it _felt_ like gushing." Veronica made a left on Camino. "I'm not far; I'll see you in a few." She hit the end call button and navigated the side streets to his apartment complex.

When she pulled up to the building, Wallace was leaning against the orange retaining wall waiting for her. Dressed in green sweats and a Neptune Pirates hoodie, the clashing pink-and-brown diaper bag was on the sidewalk between his feet. Veronica rolled down the passenger side window. "So was that a yes on the babysitting?"

Wallace pushed the bag through the window, setting it on the seat. "What time?"

"Seven. They will be fed, bathed, and ready for bed. There's no guarantee that they'll be well behaved because they _are_ Logan's children."

"Yeah, 'cause he's the only bad influence in your house."

Veronica grinned. "Absolutely."

With a shake of his head, he stepped back from the curb. "Remember, denial isn't just a river."

She scrunched her nose at him, closing the window on his words. Then she reversed its direction, lowering it an inch to call, "Good luck with your game - go Pirates!" He waved, turned, and jogged up the stairs to his building.

"Now that's two men and one little girl I owe cookies." Veronica made a U-turn and retraced her path back to the freeway. Jake had agreed to babysit tonight in exchange for caramel squares, Wallace would want snickerdoodles, and Wyatt was a classic chocolate chip girl. "Not a good influence? Huh, I'm practically Donna Reed."

Bailey blew a raspberry from the backseat.

"No comments from the peanut gallery."

Turning on her signal, she changed lanes, and merged onto the 805 south. She'd googled the address this morning while Logan was in the shower and found that Oscar Jiménez worked for the San Diego County crime lab. It shouldn't have surprised her —after all, she _was_ being sent here by an FBI agent— but getting caught running personal DNA tests in a government lab would definitely be grounds for dismissal. Oscar must have owed Gil a _huge_ favor.

Exit 21 for Balboa Avenue loomed ahead. She got over to her right, staying in that lane to take the west ramp. The lab was only fifteen minutes from the diner, so if traffic held and everything went okay with Oscar, she would get there before Logan and be able to nurse Bailey in the parking lot. Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror. Provided the baby was awake.

There was no signage. The address in large orange print was the only indication that she was in the right place. She slowed the car. It was a sprawling warren of buildings with no discernable front door. The closest thing to an entrance was a steel gray door just beyond the employee parking lot. 'Violators will be towed' warnings and the 'no trespassing by order of the sheriff' sign had her admitting defeat.

Explaining to Logan how and why she was arrested at the crime lab while carrying DNA samples in baby bottles did not sound like a fun way to pass the day.

She called Oscar, introduced herself, and told him she was outside. He agreed to meet her. While waiting for him, she checked the samples and marked each one: child, mother sample #1, mother sample #2, and finally, potential father.

Second, third, _fourth_ thoughts assailed her. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. What she should do was thank Oscar, tell him she'd changed her mind, and go meet her husband for lunch. Instead, Veronica got out of the car, grabbed the diaper bag, and released Bailey's carrier from its base. She was squirming in her seat; the lack of motion disturbing her sleep. Veronica started to swing the carrier —a pendulum marking time to the point of no return— and put the pacifier back in Bailey's mouth.

"Ms. Mars?" Oscar Jiménez was tall, angular, almost gaunt, and he had the pale complexion of someone who spent a lot of time indoors.

As he drew closer, she switched the baby carrier to her left hand, and outstretched her right to shake. "Veronica, please."

"Oscar." No, _it's a pleasure_ or _nice meeting you_ , but it was probably neither; he was about to do something that could cost him his job. Letting go of her hand, he shoved both of his in the pockets of his lab coat. "Gil tells me you need a" —he checked over his shoulder— "paternity test? Are those the samples?" His chin jutted toward the bag.

 _So we're doing this out on the street like a drug deal?_ Veronica nodded. "They're sealed in sterile containers and labeled."

"Is it for this little one here? Because I can just swab her cheek and yours." He withdrew paper wrapped cotton swabs, a pair of rubber gloves, two collapsed boxes, and two evidence bags from his pocket. A shy smile. "I like to be prepared."

Veronica smiled in return. "Me too." She slipped the bag from her shoulder and handed it to him. "Her paternity isn't in question, but you should take a sample from me." Oscar frowned at the suggestion and she elaborated. "To eliminate my DNA from the testing."

"Oh, I see." Clearly, he didn't or he didn't want to, because his features were still contorted in a mask of confusion, interspersed with embarrassment and maybe a little pity. After setting the diaper bag on the ground, he pulled on the rubber gloves, opened a swab, and swiped the inside of her cheek. Then he slid the stick into a narrow box, sealed it, and dropped the entire thing in an evidence bag. "I'll call Gil when I have the results."

"Thank you."

With a nod, he picked up her samples, and scurried back across the street. Veronica watched him cross the lot and disappear through the gray door.

It was done.

She looked at a sleeping Bailey. Tiny hands curled in fists resting on her chest and her chubby cheeks puffing in and out as the pacifier bobbled in her mouth. The paternity test wasn't just to satisfy Veronica's curiosity. Wyatt and Bailey deserved to know if they had a brother, Tyler was entitled to a father, and Logan had a right to his son. _You're justifying, Veronica_. Sighing, she snapped Bailey into the car seat.

The drive to the diner was filled with self-reproach and roadwork. The latter turning a fifteen-minute trip into thirty, and the former making it seem endless. Veronica gave up on the idea of nursing in the parking lot: they were late, the baby was asleep, and she was too tense. Of course, the second they walked inside, the music, arcade noises, and buzz of conversation woke Bailey who immediately added to the cacophony with a high-pitched wail.

Veronica bounced the carrier, scanning the restaurant for Logan and Wyatt. Skirting the Corvette, she moved through the dining room. Logan spotted them first —correction, _heard_ Bailey, who was having a full-blown crying fit— and stood to help. They were sitting in a side booth under the statue of Nipper, the dog from the RCA logo, and Wyatt was wearing a hat made from drinking straws, munching on a carrot stick.

"See, loudest animal on earth," Logan said, taking the baby from the carrier. The pacifier she'd _just_ had in the car was nowhere in sight. Veronica dug through the side pocket of the diaper bag for the emergency spare, handed it to him, and he plugged the pouty caterwauling mouth. "Ahh, quiet."

"Not for long." She eyed the baby, who was sucking on the binky as if she hadn't eaten in days, and asked a passing waitress for a cup of hot water. Veronica slid onto the bench next to Wyatt and touched one of the straws poking from her head. "That's some bad hat, Harry."

Wyatt angled her head to stare at Veronica with _that look_ and then held out a carrot. It could've been an attempt to share, but Veronica questioned her motives, thinking this was Wyatt's version of a pacifier for mommy. "No thank you, sweet pea." She kissed her fingers. "Did you have fun on the Midway?"

A big nod made all the straws jiggle. "Daddy's boat."

"Honey" —Veronica arched a brow at Logan— "Did you buy an aircraft carrier without me knowing?"

"The distinction between _working_ on a ship like this and _owning_ this exact ship was clearly lost on a two-and-a-half year old." Tucking Bailey's head beneath his chin, he rubbed her back and bounced on the booth seat. "She told everyone we met that it was mine."

"Daddy's boat," Wyatt repeated, confirming her belief on the matter.

The waitress arrived with the cup of hot water and menus. Thanking her, Veronica tested the temperature with her finger and put a bag of breast milk in the cup to warm. "You didn't order?" she asked, opening her menu.

Logan shook his head. "I only got the carrots because someone was getting cranky." He smirked. "She has as much patience as you do."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." She toed his shin. "I'm going to have the Breakfast at Tiffany's and a Cha Cha Chocolate shake."

With a droll tone, he prompted, "And?"

Veronica peered over her still open menu. "Fine, you got me- I also want the fried pickles, onion rings, and the Twist n' Shout taters." A smug smile crossed his face. With one more glance at the appetizers, she put the menu down. "You know, breastfeeding moms should eat like five hundred extra calories a day."

"So… exactly how many babies are you feeding?"

Unscrewing the nipple on the baby bottle, she filled the Mimijumi, and gave him a disapproving glare. "You're not funny."

"Sure I am, it's one of my many great qualities." The urge to roll her eyes was strong, but she resisted.

Wyatt was growing restless, twisting in her seat to stare at the other diners and eyeballing the waitresses, waiting for them to sing. Veronica stood. "Switch children with me."

He complied with her request, passing Bailey to her and moving to the other side of the booth, but he made Wyatt take the outside seat. It was like musical chairs. Next they'd be changing tables à la _I Love Lucy_.

Veronica nestled Bailey in the crook of her arm and tugged the binky free. Open-mouthed, Bailey immediately turned her head and started rooting for the breast. "Arrgh, it's the bottle for you, matey," Veronica crooned, wedging the Mimijumi between her lips.

"Pirate-speak? Are you feeling nostalgic?"

"No. And for the record, Neptune High does _not_ inspire sentimental feelings of longing and affection."

They announced the Corvette Diner dancers and Wyatt disappeared from her seat, popping out from beneath the table in time to shake her tail feather. _Twist it! Shake it, shake it, shake it, baby_. Veronica stopped talking to watch Wyatt as she twisted her arms behind her back to wiggle her fingers like feathers and shake her butt.

Veronica glanced at Logan in the same moment he looked across the table at her. Their eyes met and he smiled. _Can you believe we made this tiny, amazing person?_

Breaking the contact, she bowed her head to stare at Bailey. Not just one little person, but two. They were the result of a hard-won relationship. Their existence had created a bond between her and Logan that could never be duplicated with another person. The shared experience of sleepless nights, and milk tornadoes, and finger-painted walls deepened and strengthened their marriage. Watching him care for their daughters, putting his own needs last and never acting like it was a sacrifice, only a privilege, made Veronica love him in ways that were inexplicable.

She gnawed her bottom lip. _Logan, I did something and you're not going to be happy, but…_ The confession was right there, rolling around her mouth and leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

A waitress appeared beside Logan, ready to take their order. She smiled at Wyatt, who was still dancing tableside even though the show was over, and said, "She's adorable." Veronica listened with half an ear as Logan repeated the long list of food she wanted, tacking on a cheeseburger for himself, chicken fingers for Wyatt, and a milkshake for them to share.

Now wasn't the time to talk about DNA tests, but she would. She made the silent promise and vowed to keep it. There would be no looking at the results until she told Logan what she'd done, and more importantly, _why_ she'd needed them. He would understand.

Wyatt climbed back into her seat. "Me eat?"

"Food's on its way, Jellybean." Before the pout could even form and the complaining start, Logan exercised his mind-reading ability to distract, grabbing his cell from the table. "Want to see video of you dancing?" Without waiting for an answer —which was bound to be yes— he played the recording.

"Me!" Wyatt took the phone from his hand and started talking. It was rapid-fire with few discernable words, but her features were animated and happy so Veronica was sure it was a very entertaining conversation she was having with herself.

"Jake said he'd babysit tonight, and I hoodwinked Wallace into watching them tomorrow. Now it's your turn."

Logan had agreed to ask Dottie about switching hours, but he was doubtful. Overnight babysitting four nights a week for the foreseeable future meant she'd want to talk to Keith before saying yes. And while Dottie might be satisfied with the _'I'm helping Veronica on a case'_ explanation, Keith wouldn't.

"You should just ask your dad and Dottie to move in with us for a while." It was the same suggestion he'd made last night, but now he added, "They volunteered to do it when you were investigating Mac's accident; I'm sure they won't say no."

It was a nonstarter, but she threw it out there anyway. "We could hire a nanny?"

The return of the waitress with their milkshakes and appetizers prevented him from answering, but Veronica knew it was going to be a resounding no. Being raised by various nannies had left Logan with a distaste for them. It wasn't the idea of child care in general —some parents had to work— it was more about his nannies turning a blind eye to Logan's abuse in exchange for money and nice things.

When the waitress departed, Logan asked, "Do you want me to take her so you can eat?"

Veronica shook her head. Content and fed, Bailey was just starting to doze; moving her too soon would have disastrous results. "I can eat one-handed."

The taters were curled around skewers and served upright in a cone-shaped wire basket. Logan pulled one from its holder, slid the potato off the stick, and ripped it into dippable pieces for Wyatt. Chewing the tip of her finger, she watched him with a frown. When he was done, she ignored the plate and took her own skewer, attempting to eat the potato right from the stick.

"You'll shoot your eye out, kid," he muttered, but instead of taking it away from her, he stretched his arm along the booth behind her. Enveloping her little hands inside his much larger ones, he turned the skewer on its side and helped her hold it like an ear of corn. Wyatt beamed at him and he kissed her nose.

The tender display did funny things to Veronica's heart. "Okay, no nanny; I'll call my dad." She ate one of the torn pieces of potato.

Keith didn't have to know the specifics of the undercover assignment, and he'd be thrilled that she was taking backup with her in the form of Logan. Plus she could get his forensic accountant working on Sam's shell companies, _and_ she could find out if he still had any friends left at the building department. It would be nice to take a peek at the construction blueprints from the remodel of Shenanigans, and learn about their zoning variance.

Veronica dragged an onion ring through the tangy dip, took a bite, and thoughtfully chewed. "Pam said they stationed bouncers outside the doors to the private rooms and at the base of each staircase; where did she put you last night?"

If he was upstairs, he'd be able to sneak a peek in the VIP room, maybe take a few photos, but it also meant she wouldn't be able to see him. Veronica frowned at the onion ring in her hand. She'd given him a hard time about his bouncer plan and she regretted it now. His presence was the only thing that had gotten her through her audition. She didn't know if she could pull this off —stripping in a room full of men— without having him near.

A runner brought the rest of their food- moving things around the table to make room for the three baskets and refilling water glasses. When he'd departed, Logan asked, "Are you trying to squeeze the truth from that onion? Make it confess to its crime against healthy eating?" While he talked, he added carrots to Wyatt's plate of chicken fingers and gave her a few of his fries, making sure none of the food touched.

Veronica released her hold on the squashed onion ring, letting it fall to the plate, and wiped her fingers on a napkin. "I was thinking."

"You were glowering. So hard in fact, I thought you were going to hurt yourself." He cut Veronica's burger in half so it would be easier to eat with one hand. "Are you having second thoughts about tonight?"

"Chake?" Wyatt pointed to the metal sidecar.

Logan responded, "Eat some chicken first." At the same time Veronica said, "Have a piece of chicken first."

Wyatt picked up a tender. With a flourish, she waved it across the table to make sure they were both watching, and then took a big showy bite. She chewed and swallowed and asked, "Chake?"

Veronica bit back a smile, giving him a pointed look to say: _see, that's all you_. With wide eyes, Logan put his hand to his chest, feigning innocence. Unwrapping a straw, he stuck it in the chocolate, peanut butter, and banana milkshake, and held the metal cup so Wyatt could take a sip. "Now have more chicken."

She wrapped her hands around the cup and took it away from him, putting it down on the other side of her plate out of his reach. Bending her arm into a chicken wing, Wyatt flapped her 'wing' and clucked at them before taking another bite of chicken and then a sip of milkshake. Flap, cluck, bite, sip. Flap, cluck, bite, sip.

Logan watched her play chicken, bobbing her head and pecking at the food. "Is cannibalism a normal stage of toddler development?"

Nodding, Veronica picked up her burger. "It comes right in between hating to share and learning how to make new friends… thereby solving one problem and creating another." She ate some of her burger and then asked, "Did you get to see the VIP rooms and offices?"

"I'm working the main floor —no upstairs— but according to a few of the other guys, the VIP area has been closed for the past week. Nobody in or out except Sam." His eyes fell to her mostly uneaten burger. "You know, if the drugs and cash were hidden in the party room, Sam's probably found them by now." Leaning over the table, Logan deftly lifted Bailey from her arms, and settled her in the baby carrier. She didn't even stir; the man definitely had magic hands. "Better?"

"Thanks." Veronica stretched her arm, wiggling her wrist and fingers until the numbness dissipated. With her hand free she was able to eat her fries along with her burger. "And the offices?"

"Sam and Joey share one; it's in the back corner of the house in what used to be the kitchen. And the only reason I know that is because Pam's teeny-tiny office next door was the former pantry."

Since tonight was her first night as an official employee, she would report to Pam's office to fill out paperwork and get her schedule. With the offices next door to each other, she would be able to 'mistakenly' go to the wrong one and with any luck find it empty. "Did you notice if there are security cameras in the offices?" None of the surveillance videos Pam brought home were labeled office, but that didn't mean they didn't exist.

The slight dip of his head and muffled sigh said he knew exactly what she was planning. "Pam has one —she pointed it out to me— but I think Joey's office is clear." He put more fries on Wyatt's plate. She was done playing chicken. Kneeling on the seat, she was drinking her milkshake and staring at the twin little girls in the booth across from them. "Sizing up her next meal," Logan whispered under his breath.

Veronica grinned. Finishing the fried pickles, she picked up her burger with one hand and a fry with the other. "You know, I'm going to need to get upstairs." She waved the french fry at him. "Do you get a shift in the security room?" According to Pam's drawing, it was in the front of the mansion, tucked into a corner. Veronica assumed they had monitors to watch the live feed.

A negative shake of his head. "The senior bouncers take turns and one, or both, of Sam's men, are usually in there with them."

It was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. She had a few ideas that would get her upstairs. None of which Logan would like, so it was best to keep them to herself.

Logan bit the end of the fry she was still waving around and said, "Last night the one they call Mickey —Michael Barnes— was in the security room when I checked it out."

Winner, winner. Now she had a last name for Sam's other henchman. "You're not too shabby with this intel gathering stuff," she said, picking up her phone to text the information to Mac. "I'm glad I decided to let you help me." At the patently untrue statement, his mouth dropped open, and she batted her eyes at him.

A waiter carrying a platter of cotton candy stacked a foot high walked toward them. Wyatt's eyes grew huge, staring at the pink confection. The waiter put the platter on the table with the twins. Wyatt's head whipped around to look at Logan —she clearly knew who was the easier mark— and asked, "Me eat?"

"See now is she talking about the two little girls or the cotton candy?" His gaze roamed over the room in search of their waitress. Spotting her by the DJ booth, he motioned her over and asked for an order of cotton candy along with the check. "It's on its way, Jellybean."

Bouncing in her seat, she clapped her hands together, rubbing them in anticipation. Logan chuckled at the enthusiasm and Veronica shook her head. "That's not very nice- getting her all hyped up on sugar and unleashing her on an unsuspecting Jake."

"I'm actually doing him a favor." He smiled, a diabolical glint in his eyes. "When he has to call his mother for help, maybe she'll leave him alone and stop asking for grandchildren."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what you're doing- being helpful."

"It totally is." The large plate of cotton candy adorned with colored sprinkles was set down in front of Wyatt. Using both hands, she ripped off pieces and pushed them into her mouth. Logan's smile widened. "You know what I'm thinking? Since you want to do a little snooping before your shift, we should probably make Jake come earlier."


	18. The Real Thing

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jake showed up early enough to have dinner with them. To compensate for their fried lunch Logan had made a super-healthy stir fry with as many vegetables as Wyatt would eat, and he'd served it over brown rice. Jake was happy with the selection, Veronica not so much, but she'd eaten enough to set an example for Wyatt, and then she'd snuck off with another cannoli to get ready.

It didn't take her long. Hair, makeup, and costume would all be done in the dressing room at the club. She double-checked her duffel bag. Last night while Logan was at work, she'd packed it with everything from bottled water and snacks to a sewing kit and crazy glue. This was going to be her first meeting with the other dancers, and she didn't want to blow her cover with something as simple as a poorly-stocked bag.

Donning jeans and a cold-shoulder flutter top in a deep shade of purple, she completed the outfit with purple, ankle-wrapped platform heels and went to check on the progress of the bath and bedtime routine.

A naked Wyatt was standing in front of her closet, chewing on her finger, and staring at the rod of clothes. Logan was sitting on her bed holding a pair of rainbow socks and a red boa; he looked up as Veronica walked into the room. An appreciative smile spread across his face at the sight of her. It never mattered what she wore —dressed up or down, in pajamas with no makeup, wearing ratty sweatpants to clean house— Logan always seemed to find her hot.

"Could you at least TRY to look less sexy?"

"Well, that would be counterproductive," Veronica said, leaning in to kiss him. She nodded toward their daughter. "Wyatt takes longer to get ready than you do." Straightening, she crossed to the closet. "Want some help?" Usually the question was enough to prompt her into making a choice, probably because she didn't want Veronica to pick for her.

"No." Wyatt pulled a white cotton slip from the hanger and tugged it over her head, backwards. Leaning forward to see her outfit, she smoothed her hands down the dress, and declared herself, "Pretty."

"It seems someone is getting all dolled up for Uncle Jake." Logan frowned and Veronica touched the crease in his forehead as the doorbell rang. "Don't worry, you're still her favorite. I'll go let Pam in so you can finish pajama time." She showered Wyatt's face with night-night kisses. "You might want to try reading her a story while she puts on her socks, if you L-E-A-V-E without it there'll be a M-E-L-T-D-O-W-N."

"One story? You're very optimistic tonight."

"That's me - optimistic Veronica Mars." Picking up her duffel, she left the room, and headed for the front hall.

They couldn't arrive at Shenanigans together and, of course, Logan insisted that he get there before her. He'd arranged another ride with Pam. Not strictly necessary since Weevil had come through with a car for Amber—an older model Audi convertible in black—but Logan thought carpooling with Pam was good for his cover. It certainly couldn't hurt. Anything other than Veronica's mood, that is.

Pam and Jake were standing together in the foyer, completely at ease with each other. And why wouldn't they be? They weren't exactly strangers. Smiling, Pam lightly stroked her fingertips across Bailey's forehead. She was nestled in the crook of Jake's arm drinking her bottle. "You look good with a baby in your arms."

"Don't say that around my mother," Jake warned, leaning forward to kiss Pam's cheek. "She has enough ideas on her own; she doesn't need any help."

"Hey," Veronica interrupted their reunion. "Logan will be out in a minute." She dropped her duffel on the hall tree. "He's just getting Wyatt ready for bed."

"That's good, because this one" —Jake bowed his head to stare at Bailey— "doesn't look like she's going to sleep anytime soon." The baby returned his stare, wide-eyed and alert, and sucked at her bottle to noisy effect.

"To be clear, I said getting her _ready_ for bed, I didn't say anything about _sleep_." Veronica smiled to cushion the blow. "But if you get desperate, you can let her watch a movie." Wyatt had already reached her allowed television time for the week, but these were special circumstances. They didn't need Jake running for cover from an attack of the terrible twos.

They migrated toward the living room to wait for Logan. Veronica had gone over all the kid instructions with Jake —emergency numbers, approved snacks, the need for Cuddles— and she'd explained Bailey's feeding schedule and shown him how to make and warm a bottle. But this was an all-night gig, and he'd never watched them before.

"We should be home by four-thirty" —Veronica looked to Pam for confirmation and she nodded— "But if you need anything, you can call Logan or your mother." Veronica snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. "If Wyatt says she's hungry, she could just be angling for a cookie; don't give her any. If she's really hungry she'll eat a banana or hummus and whole wheat crackers. You need to leave the nightlight on in the bathroom and—"

"Uh-oh, someone's in mommy mode," Logan said, strolling into the living room. Draping his arm around her shoulder, he kissed her temple, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You already told him all this during dinner" —smirking, he wiggled two fingers in the air— "Twice." Her sharp side-eye made him wince. "Ouch, sorry, by all means, please continue."

Instead, she asked, "Is Wyatt actually in bed?"

Logan bent his head in Jake's direction. "He wishes. She's adding a tutu to her ensemble and picking a book for _Unca Jay_ to read." Dropping his arm, he turned to Pam. "Ready?"

"Just waiting on you."

Tucking a strand of hair behind Veronica's ear, he kissed her goodbye and then glanced at Jake. "Seriously though, if you have any problems, call me."

"Problems with these cute little peanuts? I don't think so."

Logan shook his head. "Size is deceptive, man. They take after their mother- tiny, but formidable." As he said it, he side-stepped away from Veronica and kept moving toward the front door. "Good luck."

Pam fell into step behind him, waving her goodbye and telling Jake, "I'll see you soon." She caught up to Logan in the foyer, whispering something that made him laugh, and then they were gone.

Veronica stared at the empty space a beat longer than necessary before returning her attention to Jake and the baby. "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, ma'am; we're good. Right, Bailey?" Jake wiggled the baby's foot and she kicked her legs, whether in agreement or protest, Veronica couldn't be sure.

Leaning forward, she kissed the baby's head and tickled under her chin. "Go easy on him, kid, or we might not see him again." Bailey grinned, her smile identical to the one both Wyatt _and_ Logan wore when they were up to mischief. Veronica tickled her again. "You're too little to be thinking such devious thoughts." The baby gurgled.

Wyatt's bellow of "Unca Jay, 'tory time" reverberated down the hallway, setting Jake in motion. With a salute to Veronica, he scuttled from the room.

Enough time had elapsed for her to be able to leave. Shifting her weight, she rubbed her palms across her thighs, and looked around the room. There was nothing for her to do. She squared her shoulders, got her bag, and left the house. Tossing the duffel in the trunk, Veronica slid into the driver's seat, and started the car, pausing for a moment before putting it in gear. She rolled her neck, shook out her hands and then shifted into reverse, backing from the driveway.

The 'case' part of tonight was simple. Snooping through Joey and Sam's shared office in search of evidence and information; questioning the dancers; getting a feel for the inner workings of the club; and, meeting Sam for the first time were all things that gave her the familiar _rush._ Digging for clues and putting the pieces together was challenging and, let's face it, _fun_.

It was the 'undercover' part giving her qualms. A one-off stint as Amber, a few hours playing gamer girl, or acting as the blonde bait in a honey trap were easy. But actually _living_ a role for days, or possibly _weeks,_ was new. Listening to Logan and Jake talk over dinner, using their secret Navy language —voluntold, BZ, mid-rats, rack— reminded Veronica that there was a _lingo_ involved with any profession. It wasn't enough for her to land this job, she needed to sustain the illusion of experienced dancer.

And then there was the stripping itself.

Arriving at Shenanigans, she buzzed the call box, identified herself as Amber, and waited for the gate to open. As a newly minted member of the staff, she assumed Pam would give her the gate pass during tonight's meeting, but until then… She tapped the steering wheel, impatient, while the fence slowly swung inward.

The valet wasn't as unctuous this time around, refusing to park her car and dismissing her with a wave toward the side of the building. He barked,"Employees park around back," and walked past the Audi to attend to the next vehicle in the queue - a black Ferrari, slowly pulling up behind her. There was _definitely_ some sort of communication between security and the valet station. Mister Snotty must have a wireless earpiece.

Veronica did as instructed, pulling ahead and driving around the building. Technically, the lot wasn't in "back." The mansion was situated sideways on the promontory, affording both its front and rear faces expansive ocean views. The prime spaces were clearly marked with 'valet only' signs. She bypassed them, winding her way closer to the tip of the peninsula until she found the employee section. It looked like the same place the dealers had parked the night of the party.

If employees needed to park in the back, did it also mean they had to use the beach stairs? Could getting up to the VIP rooms really be that easy? She retrieved her duffel, locked the car, and headed in that direction.

"Amber?" The unexpected and unfamiliar male voice behind her put Veronica on attack. Dropping the duffel, her fist curled around her keys. Their jagged edges poking through her fingers, as she whirled around to confront the… mountain.

The man was enormous. Tall, like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, tall and maybe twice his size. Her little car key clutched in her tiny hand suddenly felt ridiculous, but she held her ground. Show no fear. "Yeah?"

"You're going the wrong way." He stepped aside, revealing the hazy outline of a door. Painted the same color as the surrounding alabaster walls, it was barely noticeable and easy to miss with The Hulk standing in front of it. "I'm Bart."

"Amber." Grabbing her bag, she started for the door and stopped. "But you knew that already- how?"

Bart tapped his ear, confirming her suspicions. "Security told me to watch for you." He moved back to his post, disappearing into the shadows; his black clothes becoming one with the darkness.

 _Creepy_ didn't begin to cover this place.

Veronica pulled open the door, breathing a sigh of relief when no one was waiting on the other side. If they were going to monitor her progress through the entire place, she'd never be able to duck into Joey's office.

The hallway was bright and open-ended. She waited, letting her eyes adjust and orienting herself based on Pam's drawing. This corner of the club housed the dressing room, offices, and restrooms. There were three doors to her right and two on her left. Veronica took a few steps; the music getting louder as she walked.

All three doors on the right were marked —dressing room, ladies and mens— that meant the two on her left were the offices. Neither of them was labeled. She needed to make the right choice. If she went into Pam's office first, the security camera would pick her up, and she'd be stuck.

It was a no-brainer. The far door abutted the main floor and the music —not exactly a quiet space to think evil thoughts and plan heinous crimes— and it was across from the restrooms. Veronica knocked on the one closer to the exit. Even with its proximity to the employee entrance and parking lot, both Joey and Sam would like the 'prestige' denoted by having a corner office.

There was no answer to her knock. Turning the knob, she pushed open the door, and slipped into the office. The unsecured door didn't bode well for her search. If there was anything of value, she imagined it would be kept under lock and key, but she might gain some insight into Joey's relationship with Sam.

Designed to impress, the wall opposite the door was floor-to-ceiling glass. All the furniture —desk, chairs, and credenza— was arranged on one side of the room so as not to distract from the ocean vista. Crossing the polished hardwood and Persian rug, she started with the desk. It was perpendicular to the windows with an Eames leather chair tucked into its kneehole and its surface was completely empty.

Pens and blank legal pads were in the center drawer. She felt along the bottom; nothing was taped to its underside. The right-hand drawers were filled with more office supplies: staples, paper clips, rubber bands.

Her search of the top left-hand drawer yielded a page-a-day calendar. She flipped through it, looking for clues. On the last page were a group of numbers - maybe a password or a bank account. She used her cell to take a picture and returned the calendar.

The next drawer contained files. She thumbed through the tabs, reading the labels —Crest Beverage, Vend POS, SD Stage and Lighting, Beckers Catering— these were the club's vendors. She lifted the folder for the catering company. Stamped 'paid' in bright red ink, the invoice for the party was right on top.

She was only half-kidding when she'd asked Logan if they'd served Big Mouth Joe's at the party. Back in the day, Sean Friedrich had counted on Neptune's garbage pickup to steal the poker money. What if her thief had used the catering company to smuggle out his ill-gotten gains? One of those pan carriers Dick owned would easily fit both the coke and cash.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. For her to hear them over the music meant they were close. Veronica dropped the catering file back in the drawer, pocketing the invoice, and folded her arms over her chest. Closing the drawer with her knee, she leaned on the desk and stared through the window, pretending to admire the view.

"What are you doing in here?"

Acting startled, Veronica spun around to face him. "I was just waiting for Pam. You told me to meet with her before I started my shift."

"Her office is next door." Joey's bulky frame blocked the only exit, trapping her in the room. He made himself comfortable, leaning against the jamb to watch her.

Veronica didn't relish the idea of having to squeeze past him; she didn't want to get that close. Glancing around the room for a distraction, she zeroed in on the painting across from the desk. "That's beautiful," she said, gesturing toward the canvas with the hope of shifting Joey's focus from her chest to the artwork. No such luck.

"You're beautiful." Sleaze oozed from the compliment.

Ignoring it and him, she took a step closer to the wood-paneled wall. The painting was big. Big enough to be hiding a safe. Maybe the numbers from the calendar were a combination? She tilted her head to study the sides for hinges. The carved filigree frame was aged to a warm patina, giving it the appearance of an old master, but she needed to get closer.

She looked at the actual picture of two men playing cards at a wood table. There was _no way_ this was an original Cézanne, but it was a good reproduction. Very good. Reaching for the frame, she asked, "Post-impressionism?"

Joey didn't want to talk art. "We're having a party next week."

Veronica's hand froze, mid-air, and then fell to her side. Her gaze flicked to Joey. He'd moved into the office, but his hand was on the door and it was starting to close. Not good.

"It's a small party- just my partner, me, and one of our associates." He leered at her. "You'd be a nice fit."

A sharp rap on the wall made them both turn their heads. Palms flat on the doorposts, Logan balanced his weight on his hands and leaned his torso into the office; his eyes searching for and finding Joey. "Sorry to interrupt, but Pam's looking for the new girl." He didn't even glance her way. "She sent me to find her."

"We're right in the middle of—"

Veronica didn't wait for Joey to finish. "Guess it's time for me to skedaddle." Clutching her bag tight to her chest, she ducked under Logan's arm and hustled down the hall to Pam's office, relieved.

Pam was sitting at her desk, tapping a dry-erase marker against her bottom lip, and studying the whiteboard on the wall. At the sound of the door, she turned to face Veronica. "Hey, I was just adding you to the schedule. Want to fill out some paperwork while I finish?"

A lone folding chair was wedged between the desk and a vertical filing cabinet. Veronica dropped into the chair, banging her knee on one of the putty-colored drawers.

"I think I'm going to keep you off the main stage tonight," Pam said, passing Veronica a clipboard.

"Was it my complete lack of grace while attempting to sit?" She rubbed her knee, glancing at the top sheet. It was the expected employment verification form. "Afraid I'll face-plant in front of your best-paying customers?"

"You'll do great," Pam replied, absently, as she wrote Amber's name on the schedule in several places. When she finally stopped writing and looked up, a line appeared between her brows. "Are you okay?"

The question snapped Veronica into action and she started filling out the forms. "So where _am_ I working?"

"I've got you doing two sets on each of the smaller stages." Using the marker, she pointed as she talked. The board was divided into four columns —one for each stage— and there were times running down the left side. Amber's name was in _a lot_ of little boxes.

It was a giant adult word problem: if strip club A has four stages, and each dancer does a set that is seven minutes long, how many strippers do you need to keep the horny men entertained for seven hours?

"In between sets, you work the floor doing lap dances. They're twenty bucks each."

"That's kinda cheap, isn't it?" Logan paid forty for her lap dance the other night.

With a dismissive wave, she said, "Industry standard, but the clients tip better here." Better maybe, but Veronica would bet not as good as Logan's one-hundred percent. Pam continued, "If the guy wants a private dance, it's four hundred dollars for an hour. They'll pay the bartender first and then you take him into one of the back rooms." Her face twisted. "Some of them have weird requests - they want to smell your g-string, or play with your feet, or spank you."

Not happening. There would be no private dances and back rooms for her. Veronica's expression must have said as much because Pam moved on. "Are you done with those?" She gestured toward the clipboard and Veronica passed it over the desk.

The forms weren't complete, but she'd made a good show of it for the security cameras. It didn't matter; Pam was going to 'lose' the paperwork some time during her shift.

Pam flipped through the half-done forms, squeezed the top clip and removed a 3x5 sticker, which she handed back to Veronica. Simple white text on a black reflective background read: Shenanigans, Employee Parking. There was a barcode and string of numbers between the words. Veronica tucked it in her duffel bag.

"Ready to meet the other dancers?" Pam asked, standing.

Nodding, Veronica stood too and Pam came out from behind the desk, carrying the whiteboard. With the addition of her and the board on this side of the desk, the room went from small to claustrophobic, but Veronica put out a hand to stop her from opening the door. "Is there an empty locker and dressing area for me? One that wasn't Karen's?"

It was a psychological thing. Pam setting her up at Karen's station would send the message that Veronica was her replacement. If any of the girls were friends with Karen, it could create resentment and hostility-two things she didn't need while getting naked in front of strangers.

"They aren't really stations —you'll see when we get in there— but I'll give you a new locker and I'll try to put you next to Bridget; she's chatty."

Chatty was good. Veronica followed her from the office and across the hall.

If she needed another reminder that the strippers were merchandise and not people, the dressing room was it. The floor was covered in the same non-skid vinyl you'd find behind the deli counter at Ralphs.

Women in varying stages of dress were sitting on folding chairs in front of a chipped formica countertop that ran the length of the room. It was littered with everything from hairspray and makeup to take-out containers and a scented candle, which released the cloying scent of gardenias.

"—bouncer?" The naked brunette finished her question in time with the application of her lipstick. Leaning over the counter to get closer to the wall of mirrors, she smacked her lips together.

Next to her, a stunning blonde decked out in a silver metallic micro-mini skirt, put her foot on the counter and started rolling up a thigh-high black lace stocking. "I'd like to break me off a piece of that."

"Pam would kick your ass." This from Reina who was standing across the room in front of the dingy gray lockers.

Shrugging, the blonde adjusted the keyhole neckline of her silver halter top and said, "Might be worth it." She caught Pam's reflection in the mirror. There was no embarrassment at having been caught talking about Pam's new man. Instead she said, "You don't mind sharing, right?"

Instant dislike. Veronica slowly unfurled her fingers, relaxing her fisted hand and forcing a smile. She wanted to tell her she wasn't Logan's type —right after she ripped out her hair extensions— but it wouldn't be true. Everything about her, from the blonde hair to the perfect ass and the shapely legs, screamed Logan.

"Three's a crowd," Pam responded, turning away to hang the schedule on the nail by the door. "This is Amber, she's starting tonight." Done putting up the whiteboard, Pam moved closer to micro-mini skirt. "Amber this is Silver."

 _At least she's trite_. "Nice to meet you."

Silver tossed her fake hair back with a jerk of her head, raising her chin. "Hey."

Pam waved toward the naked brunette who was applying Vaseline to her cheekbones. "And this is—"

"Sin," the woman supplied her name, patting iridescent glitter over the petroleum jelly.

"Sin? As in, S.I.N?"

"Because I'm tempting." Her reflection smiled at Veronica; a cute dimple appearing above the beauty mark on her chin. "C.Y.N, short for Cynthia, but no one calls me that, except my mother." An exasperated eye roll accompanied the word 'mother'.

Pam was on the move. "You already met Reina at your audition." Veronica exchanged hello nods with her. "And this is Bridget- you can use the locker next to hers." Leaving her there, Pam continued down the line of lockers to one on the end. As she walked, she pointed to a few of the other girls —Lady D, Aurora, Chloe— and finally, the two dancers Veronica cared about meeting, Lacey Moskvin and Siobhan Byrne.

They were sitting together, facing each other, knees touching, as Siobhan painted an intricate design on Lacey's temple. A lace pattern that matched the stretch bralette and ruffle skirt she was wearing. _So much for originality_. Siobhan mumbled a greeting while Lacey remained silent and still so as to not mess up her makeup job.

"Are you dancing tonight?" Reina asked Pam the question over Veronica's head.

With a sly smile, Siobhan answered for her. "Of course she's dancing; she wants to keep her man this time around- remind Logan what he's been missing." A few of the girls laughed, but Reina gave her an icy look of warning. Unfazed, Siobhan sang a line from Pam's performance song — _I want to fuck you like an animal_ — while misting Lacey's face with Urban Decay makeup-setting spray.

Veronica gritted her teeth, taking her duffel back to the mirrors. Emptying the stuff she'd need onto the counter next to Cyn, she shoved her bag beneath the counter, took a seat and whispered, "Does she not like Pam?"

"Who? Siobhan?" Cyn doused her spiral curls with hairspray. "She's harmless."

"She's a bitch," Bridget corrected, taking the seat on the other side of Veronica. _If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit next to me._ Veronica arched a brow at her, encouraging her to continue, but it wasn't needed, Bridget was just getting started. "She thinks she's all that." As she gossiped, she worked mousse through her black hair. "And the minute she started fucking Dom she became unbearable." Bridget hit her hair with the blow dryer, separated it into sections, and started teasing the back. "Don't you need to be getting ready, hon?"

Right. Veronica plugged in her curling iron and started applying foundation primer. "Unbearable how?" She prompted, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Demanding the best shifts, only working the main stage, hogging all the whales." She shrugged. "A complete diva." Something caught her attention and she paused mid-tease. "You're going to blow Logan's mind in that outfit."

Veronica glanced down at her shirt and then frowned, belatedly remembering that here in the club Logan was _Pam's_ not hers. She turned around. Pam was clad in black leather. The bikini top, exposing ample cleavage, was held together with strings that tied behind her neck. Cheeky-cut boyshorts had triangle-shaped cutouts on her hip bones and gartini leg wraps crisscrossed their way down her long legs, ending in a pair of fuck-me pumps.

Of its own volition, Veronica's thumb moved to her ring finger. Her _bare_ ring finger. Dragging her eyes away from Pam, she looked at her hand. Engagement ring and wedding band were in the valet tray on their dresser at home, along with Logan's watch and spare change.

Picking up her foundation, she vigorously dabbed it on her cheeks with a soft buffer. It was only Logan's second night working at the club and already the idea of him as Pam's boyfriend was firmly entrenched in everyone's mind. Her gaze slipped to Pam, who had taken a seat at the end of the counter to touch up her face.

Veronica had left her rings at home and assumed an alias in order to sell her role as Amber-the-stripper. What was Logan doing to sell _his_ cover? Were they holding hands and constantly _touching_ each other? Having quiet tête-à-têtes in Pam's office? Had Pam come right out and _told_ the girls she was dating Logan?

In the mirror, Pam gave her a supportive thumbs-up and a smile.

With a mental shake, Veronica tossed off the petty thoughts. Pam was on her side. Telling the dancers Logan was taken put him off-limits to the predatory few, like Silver. And, even if Pam harbored secret feelings, cheating took two, and Veronica's faith in Logan was absolute.


	19. Murder By Numbers

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Veronica jerked awake. Tiny squawks from the bassinet pulling her from an already fitful sleep. She turned her head to stare over the side of the co-sleeper. Bailey was squirming and sucking her fist, the squawks getting louder. Hunger cues. "Okay, little eating machine, I hear you."

Bringing the baby closer, Veronica settled her on her side, tucking her close and helping her latch. Bailey's jaw worked furiously while her hand pushed and kneaded at Veronica's breast. "Hungry much?" She rubbed the baby's back, kissing the top of her head. "You're going to wake Daddy with all that grunting and swallowing."

"Daddy's already awake." There was no grogginess; his voice was clear.

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"No," was Logan's terse reply.

Frowning, she lifted Bailey —who bleated in protest at the loss of her food source— and rolled over to face him. He was lying on his back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. She readjusted Bailey, putting a pillow alongside her body for support.

She'd gotten home from the club —a glance at the clock on his nightstand made her groan— less than three hours ago. Bart-the-mountain had walked her to her car right at the end of her shift, but Logan had to wait around for Pam. "What time did you get in?"

"Five." He shifted his head on the pillow to watch Bailey eat. A fleeting smile crossed his lips and then disappeared into a thin, hard line and he resumed his study of the ceiling. "Did you find anything in Joey's office?"

Veronica told him about the numbers in the calendar and shared her caterer theory. "I didn't get to search the cabinets though. Tonight, I'll go back—"

"No." He ground the word through a clenched jaw. "I'll search your credenza, and you'll stay away from Joey." The veins in his neck bulged, temper barely contained.

Last night, Joey wasn't out on the floor much; he'd stayed sequestered in his office, doing whatever it is he did behind closed doors. He'd been front-and-center for Veronica's first set, though. But after that, she'd seen him maybe once or twice, schmoozing with the well-heeled customers, and having a glass of champagne toward the end of the evening. He'd done nothing to precipitate this reaction from Logan, except… "What happened after you rescued me from his office?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upward in the familiar _my-wife-knows-me-too-well_ smirk and then the grim expression reappeared. "Just stay away from him, okay?"

Curiosity ate at her. Veronica could really relate to that stupid cat. Obviously, Logan hadn't unleashed his fury on Joey, or he would've been fired, but she was sure he'd _wanted_ to and she wanted to know the reason. _Dammit_. Testing the waters, she said, "That's gonna be kind of hard—"

"Veronica," he snapped, causing Bailey to startle. Veronica stroked her head, planting little kisses in her hair, soothing her until she relaxed and went back to devouring her breakfast. Logan was contrite. Now on his side, he leaned forward to kiss Bailey's arm, and gently touched Veronica's cheek. "He said some things."

"So I gathered- feel like sharing?"

Logan shook his head. "I'm not repeating them" —his fingers flexed— "But I am going to make him eat them when we're done with this case."

From the look on Logan's face, those words were going to be served to Joey with a side dish of his own teeth. "He's not worth losing sleep over."

" _You're_ who I'm losing sleep over." His fingers traced the bones of her face. "You know, if you started practicing law, you might be able to keep me in the style to which I'm accustomed. I hear you'd earn a lot of money."

"Not as much as strippers, according to Cliff."

"That's not funny," he said, flatly, flopping back onto the mattress. "Why couldn't I be in love with a librarian or a teacher?"

"Wallace is still single; I could set that up for you."

With a flap of his hand, he pooh-poohed her suggestion. "Wouldn't work, he thinks I'm too high maintenance."

Veronica widened her eyes and asked, faux-shocked, "You? High maintenance?" A sad shake of her head. "I can't even imagine where he came up with that idea."

"You are SO lucky you're feeding our daughter right now or I would demonstrate which one of us requires the most" —a suggestive eyebrow bob— " _Maintenance_."

"Still you." Veronica glanced at Bailey who unfortunately was wide-awake. _You're cramping my sex life, kid_. "We have about an hour until Wyatt wakes up - wanna snuggle?"

"If by snuggle you mean sleep, sure." Belying his words, he joined her on her side of the mattress. Bailey squirmed, stretching out her arms, and making tiny sounds of displeasure at having to be moved again, but she quickly settled when given back her food.

Logan spooned them both, careful to not interrupt Bay's eating, and kissed Veronica's shoulder before tucking her head beneath his chin.

Closing her eyes, Veronica sighed. "Think if we pretended to be sleeping, Jake would take care of Wyatt's breakfast?"

"What pretend? Once Bailey's done eating, we're going to wheel the bassinet into the hall and lock the door."

"So... you want to treat our daughter like a room service cart?"

"Mmm-hmm," he purred into her ear. "It will be just like our suite at the Grand. I'll hang a do-not-disturb sign on the door and you'll get naked."

Smiling, Veronica snuggled closer. "That doesn't sound like it will lead to sleep."

"It will." His hand slid over her hip as he kissed her neck. "Eventually."

She indulged in the fantasy for a few minutes and then said, "You know Wyatt's never going to let that happen, right? It's Sunday." Stretching out her legs, she yawned, and returned a now-sated Bailey to the co-sleeper. "But maybe we can do family day in shifts- you take the first one and I'll see you in eight… nine hours."

"I'll flip you for it." Lifting her from the mattress, he flipped her onto her stomach. "Tails- I win."

She flopped back over. "You wish."

"Fervently," he agreed, lowering his mouth to kiss her. Hands in her hair, head cradled in his palms, and hips rocking into hers. It was some kiss. And altogether way too convincing. She was definitely coming around to his 'locked door' plan. Veronica wrapped her legs around his waist, increasing the contact, and he smirked. "I knew you'd see things my way."

Grabbing his hair, Veronica dragged him back for another kiss. "We have to stop because if we don't" —she smoothed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms— "Wyatt will wake up and interrupt us and then we'll be both, tired _and_ frustrated."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Too late."

"We could leave early tonight; rendezvous at the Holiday Inn before work?"

"You're on." Logan kissed her nose. "And for the record, I love when you proposition me."

She arched her hips, rubbing against him. "I can tell."

"Minx." His mouth moved down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, while his hand slid up her inner thigh. "You know, two can play this game."

"What game?" Veronica batted her eyes. "I'm just being super-affectionate to my—"

His fingers slipped beneath her bikini briefs. "You were saying?"

Banging on their door stilled his hand just when it was getting interesting. With a smirk, Veronica gave him an _I-told-you-so_ look, and they rolled apart.

"M'up!" Wyatt announced, turning the knob, and then flinging the door wide. Racing directly to Logan's side of the bed, she tossed Cuddles onto the mattress, and scrambled up to join her bunny. She climbed over Logan and settled in the middle of the bed. Her head twisted from side-to-side, staring first at Logan and then Veronica. "Hug."

Knowing what she wanted, Logan scooched closer and wrapped his arms around Veronica, cocooning Wyatt in between them. She nestled in with a soft sigh, put Cuddles in a headlock, and popped her thumb in her mouth, eyelids drifting closed.

Logan arched a questioning brow and Veronica shrugged, saying, "Don't fight it, just enjoy."

Taking her own advice, she shut her eyes, and when she finally pried them open again, she was alone. She blinked. "Logan?"

Dusky light bled through the drawn curtains and the clock was facing the wall. He'd turned on the fan for ambient noise, and compensated for the chill by covering her with an extra blanket. Veronica smiled, savoring the pampered feeling for a little while, before crawling out of bed. Pulling on a pair of leggings, she went to relieve Logan from kid duty.

He was lying on the sofa with Bailey on his chest.

Across from him, Jake was lounging in a chair with his legs stretched out on the coffee table, feet crossed at the ankles. He scratched his head and yawned. "She was up for each of Bailey's feedings and I mean _up_ , like wide awake with enough energy to power a nuclear sub."

That explained Wyatt's willingness to go back to sleep with them this morning. Frowning, Veronica looked around the spotless room for the overactive toddler. "Where _is_ Wyatt?"

"In the box," Logan responded, pointing to a large cardboard box, which had formerly held a dishwasher and _used_ to be waiting in the garage for recycling day.

Frown deepening, Veronica crossed the room and peered inside. Logan had dressed Wyatt in a bathing suit and sat her in the center with her finger paints. Chatting to herself, she was happily painting all four sides —and her skin— with splashes of color. A self-contained artist studio.

"I needed to keep her occupied while I cleaned up the debris from the great toy tornado."

"You just got extra lucky tonight," Veronica said, leaning over the arm of the couch to kiss him. "And if there's bacon in that kitchen, you won't even have to flip me for it."

"There's bacon." His smile was slow and indecent. "Along with waffles and ice cream."

She fanned herself.

"You two make this parenting thing look easy," Jake said, picking up his coffee from the side table and taking a sip. Veronica only stared at him, mouth agape, and Logan laughed. Jake's brow furrowed. "I'm serious; that one" —he jabbed his thumb toward the box— "swindled me out of four bedtime stories, declared she wasn't sleepy, and came out here to play." He pointed at Bailey. "And this one cried each time I tried to feed her. But look at them now, content and happy and _quiet_."

"Maybe you should tell him about the hair gel incident, or the sandbox caper, while I eat breakfast and call my dad." Veronica headed for the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to add, "Or you could explain why we even needed a new dishwasher."

With a smirk, Logan shook his head. "Dude, this is so far from easy, you have no idea." He curled his hand around Bailey's head, stroking his thumb across her cheek; his expression grew tender. "But it's totally worth it."

Veronica rested her head on the door jamb to watch him with the baby. Lucky didn't begin to cover what he was getting tonight. Letting her sleep, making her favorite breakfast, and now this moment. Irresistible. Raising his head, Logan caught her spying on him and winked. She executed a slow turn, adding a little extra sway to her hips, and blew a kiss over her shoulder on her way to the kitchen.

She glanced at the clock. Not exactly breakfast, it was closer to brunch, but whatever.

The bacon and waffles —chocolate chip waffles— were in the warming tray. Veronica tested one of the chips to make sure they were real chocolate and not those carob things Logan insisted on buying. Satisfied, she topped it with the vanilla ice cream, and sat at the counter to eat. Food first, then Dad- she'd need sustenance for the upcoming guilt-trip and possible lecture.

The call could technically wait. Wallace was watching the girls tonight, and the club was closed on Mondays. If she waited till the last minute, she could buy herself another two explanation-free days, but she really wanted a peek at the construction blueprints for Shenanigans. She also needed to get the forensic accountant working on Sam's shell companies. The sooner she gathered dirt on Sam, the sooner she could stop dancing.

There was a joke in there somewhere —resolving an issue with her dad in order to stop stripping— but she couldn't find the humor in it. Last night had been tough. Loretta was right, eye contact with the customers was a big no-no. The few times Veronica did, it was hard to say who was more discomfited- her, by seeing the lust in their eyes, or them, for realizing she was an actual person and not just a fantasy object.

Veronica picked up the phone and dialed her dad. "Keith Mars."

"Hey, Pops."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry who is this?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Your daughter."

"Daughter you say? I used to have a daughter; she worked in my office, ate ice cream with me, and occasionally we'd go to the zoo together. Oh, and she didn't avoid me."

"Well that's simply not true." Balancing the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she rinsed her plate and stacked it in the dishwasher. "I avoided you plenty of times."

"Usually when you were up to something I wouldn't like."

She wasn't even going to address that- _sorry, Bob Dylan, but the times they are NOT a changin'_. "I need a favor, three actually. Do you still know anyone at the Balboa County Building Department?"

"I might. What's in it for me?"

"My undying devotion and a 'world's greatest dad' mug?" Veronica wiped down the counters and put the frying pan in the sink to soak.

"That may have worked when you were five, kiddo, but these days I'm holding out for a better offer. There are only so many mugs one dad needs."

"But you're the one who keeps telling me I'll always be five to you. That means a handmade card and a hug should be enough." He chuckled and she leaned against the counter, twisting the phone cord through her fingers. "What about some uninterrupted, quality time with your granddaughters?"

"You've piqued my interest."

"I'm handling a case for an old friend of Logan's." She paused, waiting to see if he would fill the void with information. Dottie didn't gossip, but she'd probably mentioned either Pam or Tyler to him in passing, and Veronica wanted to know what he knew. Silence hummed on the line. Tight-lipped as always, he volunteered nothing. On a sigh, she continued, "Pam got me a job at her club, which means I'm going to be working nights and need a babysitter."

"See, it sounds like you're sharing, but methinks there are holes in your story."

"Because you're suspicious by nature." _Hello pot, this is the kettle_.

Keith _humphed_ , asking, "And where's Logan going to be while you're working at this club?"

"With me, he's my backup." Telling him Logan would be with her was a gamble, but one she had to risk. Veronica pulled the cord, stretching out its curls until it was taut, and then let it go, watching it coil back into shape. On the one hand, Keith would be happy that she wasn't doing something dangerous alone, but on the other, he would realize it _was_ dangerous if she was willfully bringing a partner.

"He's taking time off from his job?" It was 'Concerned Dad' voice, but with a hint of interrogation.

To stave off the question-and-answer session, she said, "We were hoping you and Dottie would stay here for a few days next week, say Tuesday through Saturday night? If I wrap up this case by then, I might even let you take me to the zoo on Sunday." The offer was a serious one. A family day at the zoo would be a wholesome and clean activity. The perfect antidote to a week spent at Shenanigans.

"I'll talk to Dottie. What was favor number three?"

"I just need you to give me the name and number of your forensic accountant." There was no way she'd have Keith pass the information along, because he wouldn't be able to resist snooping- direct access was key.

"Her name is Sharon Cates; I'll text you her phone number when we hang up."

"Look at you, sending a text- welcome to 1997."

"Didn't I teach you anything? You don't insult the mark until _after_ you have the information you want."

"Eh," Veronica said, shrugging. "I know my audience." Crying from the living room put an abrupt end to their call. "Gotta go." Hanging up the phone, she went inside. Bailey was in her bouncer, screaming. "What happened?"

"She woke up when I put her down to get this one," Logan answered, lifting a paint-covered Wyatt out of the box. She was wriggling in his grasp, trying to free herself. "You have to wait until we get outside, Jellybean."

Wy was staring at the furniture with a gleam in her eyes, wearing that _I'm-up-to-no-good_ smile. Veronica was sure she was contemplating redecorating the room in rainbow colors. "Where'd Jake go?" she asked over the wailing.

"The instant the crying started he was gone - _poof_."

"Yeah, parenting is easy," Veronica mumbled, picking up the baby and placing her stomach-down across her forearm. Bouncing, she patted Bailey's back, making _shushing_ sounds. The deafening bawl lowered an octave. "We're practically living the life of Riley here."

Smirking at her words, Logan fled to the yard, using his elbow to open the French doors while both managing to hold onto Wyatt and not get paint on the walls. Veronica followed him outside. The gentle breeze soothed Bailey into silence for a blink, but when the crying resumed it was even louder than before.

"Want to go in the water with your sister?" She crossed the yard to the pool. Logan had sat Wyatt on the steps in the shallow end. She was splashing herself, watching the water change colors as she rinsed off the paint. "You're going in too," Veronica informed Logan, nodding toward Bailey.

"Okay." Peeling off his t-shirt, he circled the pool and dived into the deep end. By the time he resurfaced, Veronica had stripped the baby down to her onesie, and she passed her to him. "Hey, Rabbit." He held her close to his chest, gently bobbing until the warm water calmed her.

Leaving them, Veronica went inside to get towels and put on a bathing suit —she'd need to take over pool time so Logan could sleep— and then stopped in the nursery for dry clothes and diapers. Swim, lunch, and nap, and then later Logan could join them for 'family cookout' in front of the fireplace.

As she reached the deck, the doorbell rang. Ignoring it was her first choice. Sunday was already off to a rough start and they'd be leaving the kids early tonight. It rang again. Logan was sitting on the steps of the pool; Wyatt was 'helping' him teach Rabbit to float. Another ring of the bell. This one longer and more persistent.

"Grr." She marched to the front of the house. The security monitor revealed the interloper as Pam. Veronica threw open the door. Not bothering with a greeting, Veronica said, "I need to get this stuff to Logan." Turning on her heel, she didn't wait to see if Pam was following, and started for the yard. "Lock that behind—"

"Karen's dead, Veronica."

Her steps faltered. "Wait, what?" She whirled around, stopping long enough to take in Pam's disheveled appearance. Red-rimmed, puffy eyes, bedhead, and still wearing pajama shorts and a tank top, Pam must've been sleeping when she got the news. "Karen's dead?"

"It happened last night; I don't know all the details, but… they killed her." Pam bit her bottom lip, hard. "Is it our fault? Did we lead them to her?"

Was she here to deliver the news, or on a search for absolution? Veronica couldn't change the former and she couldn't offer the latter. It was possible the killers had followed them to Karen's, but not likely; Veronica had been careful. They probably found Karen the exact same way Veronica did- by tracking down her mother. Criminals had technology, too.

"I thought you were getting towels," Logan said, walking into the house with Bailey in one arm and Wyatt in the other. All three dripping chlorine on the hardwood. "It's too cold for the ba—" He stopped talking when he spotted Pam. "What happened?"

With a _not now_ shake of her head, Veronica took the baby and passed him the towels. "Pam's going to help me with Bay; will you get Wyatt's lunch? There's tortellini soup in the fridge."

"Me eat 'roni."

Veronica kissed her nose. "Yes, _special_ macaroni stuffed with cheese." The cheese sold it; Wyatt nodded her head in agreement. "We won't be long," Veronica promised, gesturing for Pam to follow her.

Once they were in the nursery, Veronica closed the door, shut off the baby monitor, and said, "Tell me what you know."

"Not much." She hugged her body, staring through the window at the yard. "Reina called me. The police…" Taking a step forward, she stopped, turned and paced toward the crib. "The police went to Siobhan's looking for a next-of-kin. When they left, she called Reina, and—"

"Reina told you." Veronica finished changing Bailey's diaper and kissed her belly, tickling her sides. "Where was Karen's mother?"

The question interrupted Pam's stilted pacing. "I don't know." Her eyes widened. "Do you think they… they killed her too? The police didn't say that, at least I don't think they did, but it's possible, right?" She clutched her head. "Tyler can't stay with me; maybe I should leave Dick's."

"And go where?" Veronica dressed Bailey and picked her up, carrying her to the rocking chair. "We don't know anything yet. We don't even know if this is related to the club." It would be one hell of a coincidence if it wasn't, and Veronica didn't believe in those, but she needed to calm Pam down. "Why did the police go to Siobhan's?"

"That was the address on Karen's license; they were roommates until Karen went into hiding."

"Was Siobhan able to give them next-of-kin?"

Pam nodded. "The brother in Sacramento."

So he wasn't imaginary. Too bad Karen hadn't taken Pam's advice and gone to stay with him. Then again, an hour-and-a-half plane ride wasn't that far to travel if you wanted to collect two hundred grand.

Is that why they'd killed her? Did they identify her as the thief? If they hadn't recovered the missing cash and drugs, it wouldn't make sense for them to eliminate a potential source of information.

Unless it was a warning? Were they upping the stakes for the other dancers, trying to make them talk?

But why Karen? She was already a walking, talking warning. The bandaged face and bruises around her neck indicated their seriousness and their willingness to use violence. Of course, it would've been more effective if she was actually _at_ the club and not hiding.

At the club.

"When last night was she killed?" Pam's expression was blank. "What _time_?" Sam and his goons were conspicuously absent all night. Joey was there sporadically, but his office was right by the exit and he was drinking champagne at the end of shift- maybe in celebration?

"I don't know; why does it matter?"

Instead of answering, Veronica asked, "Do you still have the dancer's schedule? Your whiteboard? Or did you erase it?"

All four girls —Lacey, Siobhan, Reina, and Pam herself— were at Shenanigans and on the schedule, but if Joey could make the drive so could one of them. Chatty Bridget said Siobhan only worked the main stage. How much time was there between her sets?

Pam's eyes cleared. "You're thinking about alibis."

And interrogations. The police were going to want to talk to Karen's boss and co-workers. They would come to the club. They would also search the crime scene and dust for prints. If they hadn't found Veronica's bug by now, they would soon. Ditto for her fingerprints. Hers and Pam's.

 _Shit_.

So much for too many exes; she was going to have to call Leo. The apartment was in his jurisdiction. He'd be able to tell her where the investigation was heading and she could make a preemptive disclosure about her visit to Karen. Plus he'd be able to fill in some details, such as how and when she'd died.

"Will you feed Bailey for me?" Veronica abandoned the rocking chair to return to the kitchen; Pam trailed after her.

If the police found out the bug was hers, they would make her turn over the recordings. They could also bring her up on eavesdropping charges. The penal code was very clear. If the D.A. was feeling generous, he could charge it as a misdemeanor —a fine and up to a year in county jail— but as a wobbler offense, he could decide to make it a felony.

 _If_ they found out the bug was hers.

There was a gray area to the law. Veronica had planted the bug during a conversation _she_ was a party to and she was trying to gather evidence about a violent crime. She was smack-dab in the middle of a moral dilemma. Keep silent about the bug or take the risk? What if the bug had recorded Karen's murder?

Logan was at the table with Wyatt. A smorgasbord of food in front of them. He'd fished the tortellini out of the soup and put them on a plate. There were cucumber slices with ranch dressing. Apple slices and chunks of cheddar cheese and, strangely, one lone slice of bacon, all on separate dishes. Either Wyatt was being picky or she was starving.

"You didn't tell me there were peas in the soup," he said as Veronica walked into the room. "It was a mutiny."

"No peas, Mama." Wyatt put tortellini on the cucumber, topped it with bacon, and dipped all three in the dressing, shoving the weird combo into her mouth. Why the food couldn't touch on the plate, but was okay when _she_ mushed them together, was a toddler mystery Veronica would never solve.

She mouthed, _sorry_ , and said— "Pam's going to feed Bay, and I can finish lunch if you want to N.A.P." —while transferring the baby to Pam.

His intense gaze studied Veronica's face. It was not the adoring, _I-love-you_ look and it was definitely not the smoking hot, _I-want-you-now_ stare. This was appraising- a little skeptical, plus a touch of worry, and a whole lot of _you're up to something_. "I'll wait."

Which meant listening to the recording would have to wait. Logan would want to hear it too, and it was not something she could play on speaker in front of Wyatt, especially if it contained the confrontation with Karen and her subsequent murder.

Veronica averted her face, turning to finish warming Bailey's bottle. "I have to make a phone call." Keeping him in the dark was not her intent, but this was tricky. "To Leo," she added, testing the bottle and giving it to Pam. Leaning a hip on the counter, she met Logan's eyes. "Karen was M.U.R.D.E.R.E.D." Even though, Wyatt wouldn't know the word, it was harsh and ugly, and something Veronica never wanted her to understand.

His cheeks puffed and he exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. He glanced at Pam who had joined him at the table with the baby, his expression unreadable, and returned his focus to Veronica. "When?"

"Last night." She hesitated in the doorway. "I'm going to use the extension in my office, but" —she touched the wall phone— "if you want to join."

Rising from his chair, he touched the top of Wyatt's head, and crossed the room to the phone. "I'll give it a few minutes."

It was easier to have Logan listen in on the call now than have to repeat the entire conversation later. Plus there was only enough room in their marriage for one jealous person at a time and it was her turn. Full disclosure of her interactions with Leo would allow Veronica to continue her jealousy monopoly until Pam went away.

Settling in her office chair, she placed the call, and asked to speak with Leo. A soft click signaled Logan's presence on the line seconds before Leo mumbled, "Veronica Mars. I hope you're not going to ask for a favor, because I prefer when you do that in person; I'm usually rewarded with treats, both visual and culinary."

Was he actually _flirting_ with her? Veronica shook her head. "That could be the start of a bad joke - a soccer mom, a toddler, and an infant walk into a police station."

"Right… how is Logan?" Mumble gone, his voice was now clear and professional.

Opting to keep Logan's presence on the line to herself, Veronica said, "He's good; I'll tell him you said hi." This was the time when social convention would dictate an exchange of pleasantries, but she eschewed them in favor of getting to the point. "A woman was killed last night, Karen Wittner, and it happened in your neck of the woods."

"And you're calling because you already know who the killer is?" Typing in the background meant he was pulling up the case.

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." It was time to offer up information. The question was how much? She couldn't lie to the police about an ongoing investigation. "She works, _worked_ , for a gentleman's club called Shenanigans as a dancer. Recently, some money went missing from the club and one of the owners hired me to find out who took it."

"Was it our vic?"

"Not sure, maybe. It could've been another dancer, or one of the club's other owners." She gave him the rundown on the ownership of the club, providing names but leaving out the shell companies, and told him she was hired by Pam. "No one at the club knows I'm investigating the theft except my client."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"Two hundred grand."

He whistled at the sum. "That could motivate someone to kill."

Veronica skipped over the 'things people were motivated to do for money' conversation because it would lead places that might make Leo less willing to help her. "How was she? Killed, I mean."

"Two shots to the head. The autopsy hasn't been done." Police-speak for no official cause of death yet and no information on bullets or weapon. Or, more importantly, time of death.

"You have an _unofficial_ T.O.D.?"

"First 911 call came in around two a.m. Neighbor reported hearing gunshots from the apartment next door."

That tracked. Apartment number three was on the same landing as Karen's mother and the walls were woefully thin. Two a.m. Traffic would be light at that time, even for California freeways. Someone could've made the drive from the club, killed Karen, and gotten back to Shenanigans well before closing. "What about Karen's mother? Where was she?"

"Sacramento, visiting her son."

So Karen hadn't taken the advice for herself, but she'd spirited her mother away for safety. "You're going to find my prints in the apartment; I was there on Wednesday and I doubt she cleaned after my visit."

"I'll let the detective in charge know. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Now was her opportunity to mention the bug, but she held back. "Have they searched the apartment? Found my missing money?" _Or my listening device_.

"No on your money and yes, on the search, but someone beat them to it. The place was ransacked. They were thinking robbery- thief broke in expecting to find the place empty and got startled by Karen. They're waiting on the mother to inventory the apartment, tell them if anything's missing."

"Ransacked, huh? How could they tell? When I was there, the…" She'd thought Karen was only a slob. Clothes had been pulled from suitcases and tossed around the room. But maybe someone had searched through her things. That would be three separate visits to Karen. Once to rough her up and get answers, a second time to search what she'd brought with her into hiding, and a third to kill her.

Why? What had made them track her down? Instead of afraid, did her running make her look guilty to them? And if they found proof she was the thief during their search, why not kill her then? Why wait days and shoot her later? And if she wasn't the thief, what reason did they have to go back a third and final time?

Something had to have happened. A triggering event, or events, in between visits that focused their attention solely on Karen. Veronica just had to figure out what.


	20. Dressed Up To Undress

CHAPTER TWENTY

After she hung up with Leo, they sent Pam back to Dick's house, and both Karen's murder and the case were put on hold for family day.

Veronica entertained, making puppets from lunch bags, while Logan caught some sleep, and then they cooked fancy grilled-cheese sandwiches in the fireplace for dinner. Afterward, Wyatt made them read her favorite books, doing different voices and using the hand puppets.

"Your British accent is ruined for me now," Logan said, flopping down in the pile of sleeping bags and pillows. "Completely tainted by Peppa Pig."

"Good to know cartoon pigs are a hard limit," she said, dropping to her knees next to him. Tapping a finger against his lips, Logan's brow creased, and his head tilted in contemplation. Veronica hit his shoulder with a throw pillow. "I can't believe you're actually _thinking_ about it."

Logan grabbed her hands, pulling her onto his chest. "You do look good in pink." He kissed her nose and slid his hand over her ass. "And I love your tail."

"Peppa!" Wyatt raced back into the room, clutching a DVD with the cute pink pig on the cover.

Groaning into his shoulder, Veronica muttered, "I thought you burned that?"

"You certainly didn't expect me to roast a whole hog by myself, did you?"

"Ugh, did you just make a DAD joke?" Pulling away from him, she sat up. "You're seriously in danger of losing all the sexy points you had stored up for tonight."

"I'm not worried." With a bob of his eyebrows, he walked his fingers up her inner thigh."I have ways of earning them back."

No doubt. He caressed her leg, thumb stroking between her thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Veronica stopped his hand as it dipped beneath the hem of her shorts, removing it from her skin. The smug grin on Logan's face said, _See? Not worried_.

She stood. "Daddy will watch Peppa Pig with you, sweet pea." In time with the words, Wyatt thrust the DVD at Logan's chest and his smile slipped. Veronica grinned. _Payback's a bitch_. "I'm going to get ready before Wallace gets here."

"Fancy party, Daddy," Wyatt instructed as Logan opened the TV cabinet and inserted the DVD. It was an oft-watched episode of Peppa and her friends dressed in costumes. _Everyone loves fancy dress parties_ \- except maybe Logan at this point. Veronica almost felt bad for him; not bad enough to stay and watch, though.

Escaping down the hall, she locked herself in their room. An hour —or two, depending on how fast they could get out of here— in a hotel room wasn't exactly date night, but she was going to treat it like one.

She showered, did her hair and makeup, and slipped into a slinky, black bodycon dress. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on a pair of thigh-high, heeled boots. The outfit was new- hidden in the back of her closet, waiting for a night out with Logan. Standing, Veronica checked the mirror before leaving the room.

Logan was on the sofa. He turned his head as she entered the room. His eyes widened at the sight of her and his jaw slackened, mouth parting; the tip of his tongue darted across his bottom lip. Smiling at the desired reaction, Veronica slowed down, giving him more time to ogle. Logan twirled his wrist, indicating she should turn, and she obliged the silent request.

"Wow." His gaze was riveted to the few inches of bare skin between the hem of the mini-dress and the top of the boots. "Wally needs to get here like yesterday."

"Mama pretty." Wyatt was on her knees, peering over the back of the couch.

"Pretty... _hot_ ," Logan murmured, getting up from the couch. With two long strides, he was in front of Veronica, taking her hands in his and pulling her close. Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers in a whisper-soft kiss.

A glance at the sofa confirmed Wyatt was no longer watching, her attention reclaimed by Peppa Pig. Freeing her hands, Veronica lifted her arms, and wound them around Logan's neck, holding him in place and deepening the kiss.

He cradled her hips between his palms, drawing her to him, and then slid his hands over her ass. They stilled and he yanked his mouth away. "You're not wearing…" He visibly swallowed. "Are you naked under this dress?"

"Completely."

A strangled groan in the back of his throat. "You're trying to kill me," he rasped into her ear.

"No, just trying to turn you on." She angled her head to see his face. "Is it working?"

"You have no idea how much." Kissing her again, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth; his hands glided down her spine, palms smoothing the dress to her skin. With a soft growl, he pulled back. "To be continued," he whispered, kissing her nose.

Reluctantly, Veronica released her hold on his neck, running her hands over his chest. "I'll do pajama time."

"Okay," he agreed without letting her go, his hands still caressing the small of her back. He feathered kisses along her jawline and then down the side of her neck. Tilting her head, Veronica exposed her throat to him, granting him easier access. His lips grazed her collarbone. "On second thought, she can sleep in what she's wearing."

" _Mmm_." Veronica struggled to remember _what_ Wyatt was wearing as Logan gently started to suck her neck. Green hospital scrubs. Wyatt had put them on to read, _Elmo Goes to the Doctor_. They were perfectly acceptable bedtime attire.

The doorbell succeeded in breaking them apart; Veronica tripping over Logan's foot in her haste to answer. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her, and his smug smile reappeared.

"What? I don't want it to wake the baby."

"Liar."

Wyatt popped up from behind the sofa, standing on the cushions and jumping. "Unca Wall- _eee_!" Logan caught her mid-jump and flew her over the back of the couch so she could race to the door. She lunged at Wallace's legs.

Wallace scooped her up into a hug. "Who's ready for a game of sneaky, snacky squirrel?"

"Me!" Wyatt pointed to her chest and started to squirm. "I go get." He put her down, but before she could run away, Logan lifted her for goodbye kisses. Wy squeezed his cheeks between her palms to deliver a loud lip-smacking kiss, then she turned to do the same to Veronica. "Night-night?"

Logan shook his head, putting her down. "Not yet, Jellybean; you can play your game with Uncle Wally." His gaze drifted to Veronica. "While I play with Mommy."

Wallace gagged, frowning in distaste. "You two need to be hosed down."

One eyebrow quirked as Logan leered at Veronica. "There's an idea."

A soft _eww_ from Wallace as he walked past them into the house. "Just remember, when you have kid number three, I'm not babysitting anymore."

Logan said, "We'll miss you," at the same time Veronica firmly stated, "That's not happening."

The _'yeah, right'_ eye roll from Wallace was hard to miss. Veronica chose to believe his skepticism was about Logan missing him and not her assertion that they were having no more kids. "The guest room is all set up and you know where everything is," she said, picking up her duffel and purse from the hall-tree bench.

Logan took the bags from her. "And you can call me if you have any problems." He opened the front door, nudging Veronica through it. "But you won't. Have problems, that is." Stepping onto the porch after her, he blocked the entrance.

Veronica peered around his middle. "There's breast milk in the fridge, extra binkies on the table, and don't forget—"

"To set the alarm," Logan finished for her, shutting the door with a soft thud. "Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" His free arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush to his chest. "Ah, I remember."

The heat of the kiss singed her lips, demanding and hungry as if he'd gone months without her. Eyes closing, she stroked her hands up his back, enjoying the feel of the hard planes and angles beneath her fingers.

Her duffel bag hit the porch with a _thunk_ and he was lifting her, spinning her around so he could lean on the railing. It made her lightheaded. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. She didn't care. Her legs straddled his thigh and she sank her fingers in his hair. Veronica wanted contact. Skin-to-skin. And if they didn't stop soon, she was going to strip him down here in full view of the neighbors.

Reading her mind, Logan wrenched his mouth away, panting. "Hotel."

Veronica blinked. Brain fuzzy, it took her a minute to make the connection. Right. They were going to the Holiday Inn. She slid off his leg, returning her feet to the ground.

Logan smoothed his hands over her hips, fixing her dress, and then brushed his lips over hers, soft and tender. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "Ready?"

Turning her face, she kissed his fingers, and nodded. Scouting the porch for her discarded purse, she bent over to pick it up, and Logan smacked her ass. She tossed a mock-frown over her shoulder and inclined her head toward the duffel. "Now it's your turn."

"Okay" —he shrugged— "But spanking doesn't do it for me, like it does for you." Bending at the waist, he grabbed her bag.

"Oh, I know. I just wanted you at the right viewing height." As she talked, her hands caressed her thighs, slowly sliding up her hem to offer him a peek under her dress. Growling, he dropped the bag and reached for her. She danced away from him and down the stairs, laughing. "What about that? Did that do it for you?"

Logan stalked after her. Tossing the bag in the backseat of the Audi, he opened the car door for her. "You're driving."

There was an evil glint in his eyes. Alarm and anticipation skittered down her spine. "Yes, sir." Veronica slid into the seat and he reached in to fasten her seatbelt, letting his fingers graze her breast.

Taking both her hands in his, he positioned them on the steering wheel at ten and two. "Don't let go of the wheel." He shut the door.

"If I don't let go, how will I ever start the car?" she simpered, batting her eyes at him.

A wolfish grin was his only reply. With her purse in hand, he circled the hood, and climbed into the passenger seat. He fished out the keys and leaned over her, one hand turning the key in the ignition and the other slipping between her thighs.

"Logan." The reprimand was too breathy to be effective. "What are you doing?"

"Hmm?" His hand moved higher, inching up the dress. "I believe it's called foreplay. I don't know why other men don't like it, because I'm having a grand old time." He scrunched lower in his seat to stare pointedly through the windshield. "Aren't you supposed to be driving somewhere?"

"I will, when you return to your side of the car."

"Veronica Mars, I'm disappointed; I thought you _liked_ a challenge."

She shifted the car into reverse and touched her foot to the gas, squeezing her legs together to trap Logan's hand and stop the lazy, tantalizing stroke of his finger.

"There's my girl. Uh, you might want to take it slow, because I certainly plan to." Her breath caught and she jerked to a stop as he slid one long finger inside her. He crooked his finger, sweeping it back and forth in a come-hither gesture.

Veronica banged her head against the seat.

Chuckling, he eased his finger out, circled her clit, and withdrew his hand from her lap. He stuck his middle finger in his mouth and sucked. "I can't wait to bury my face between your legs and really taste you."

 _Fuck_. Throwing the car into drive, she slammed her foot on the gas. "You just stay over there for now," she warned.

"Sorry, can't hear you over all this wind." He waved his arm through the open roof of the convertible. Lowering his hand, he reached under her arm to cup her breast, brushing his thumb across her nipple. He twirled it between his fingers, using the material of the dress to create friction. When she moaned, his hand drifted to the other one, lavishing it with the same attention.

Logan took his hand away and covered hers, righting the steering wheel. "Watch the road, Veronica." She directed a quick glare at him and he clapped in glee. "Ooh, I've made her mad."

"And I know how much _that_ turns you on," she ground out.

"Feisty Veronica is my favorite." He breathed the words against her ear and caught her earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. His mouth moved down her neck, nibbling and sucking her skin.

The seat started to get warm. Her eyes flicked to the control button. Logan must've turned the seat warmer on when… She didn't know when. It was taking all her concentration to keep them on the road.

His hand was back on her thigh, drawing circles on her skin. He shoved her dress up past her hips, exposing her to the night air. The cool breeze competing with the hot seat made her shiver, but not as much as his whispered, "Spread your legs for me, Veronica."

She did as he asked, hips arching from the seat, and her foot pushing harder on the gas pedal. They were close. The hotel was just… he thrust two fingers deep inside and the car swerved, making his fingers jerk. "Easy," he cautioned, scissoring his fingers.

"Logan, I… you have to… _ooh_." Where the hell was the hotel? Her eyes started to close and she forced them open. The blue uplights on the frontispiece of the Holiday Inn Express swam into focus. Jerking the wheel to the left, she slewed the car into the lot and jammed her foot on the brake, pushing his fingers deeper.

"Look, we're here." He slid out of her, retreating to his side of the car. "Should I check us in, or do you want to do it?"

Veronica clenched her teeth. "You can't just… we… I need… _grrrr_."

"You're so sexy, all turned on and ready to come." He leaned back over the console to whisper in her ear. "Do you want to touch yourself? Get yourself off?" Veronica nodded. "Well, don't. Keep your hands on the wheel and wait for me." He brushed the hair out of her eyes and kissed her cheek. "For this, I'll be quick, I promise."

Hopping out of the car, he disappeared into the hotel.

Clamping her knees together, she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She hadn't even considered touching herself until he suggested it. Now that's all she wanted to do. Slip her hand beneath her dress and relieve the pressure, the dull throbbing between her legs. Deserted, dark parking lot? Not a problem. She wanted to plant her feet on the dashboard and make herself come.

 _Curse you, Logan_.

The object of her ire returned, brandishing a card key. Opening her door, he undid her seatbelt, and righted her dress. "I can't wait to fuck you, Veronica; to bury myself deep inside your beautiful cunt." His words shot right to her core, making her wetter.

On unsteady legs, she climbed out of the car, and he picked her up, kicking the door closed. Instead of carrying her through the lobby, he used the keycard to access the pool area and the side entrance. He strode down the hall to their room and kissed her while he inserted the key.

There was no waiting. With his foot, he closed the door behind them, and deposited her on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees. Veronica spread her legs and he pushed his face between her thighs. He licked over her clit, circling it with his tongue, and lightly started to suck.

His tongue was everywhere, teasing and tasting her. He swirled it around her clit and dragged it lower, thrusting it inside her. In and out, lapping at her. Veronica's legs started to tremble. Toes curling in her boots. She was so close. Logan slid his tongue out and over her, slamming two fingers into her. Bucking her hips off the mattress, she pushed into his hand, taking him deeper.

"You're so fucking hot." He added a third finger, pumping them and crooking them forward, stroking her. "I'm going to come just listening to you." Logan touched his tongue to her clit, setting off her orgasm. It rolled through her. Veronica scratched at the mattress, grabbing fistfuls of sheet as her body convulsed around his hand.

Logan rocked back on his heels to watch her through hooded eyes. When her body stilled, he slowly lowered the zippers on her boots and pulled them off, tossing them away. He kissed her thigh and stood. With one hand, he yanked his shirt over his head, and with the other he unsnapped his jeans.

Licking her lips, Veronica rolled her head to the side for a better view. He toed off his sneakers and shucked his jeans and boxer briefs. Grabbing her hips, fingers digging into her bones, he lifted her ass from the bed, and slammed into her.

Rough and wild, he held her still while he pounded into her. Veronica's stomach quivered. He was beautiful like this. Out-of-control with lust and the need to have her. It made her feel powerful. Wanton. Sexy. _Possessive_.

He orgasmed, coming deep inside her, and then collapsed on the bed. Veronica curled around him. Logan kissed her shoulder, running his hands over her skin. After sex was his most vulnerable time. The need to touch and cuddle, reassuring himself that she was still here and not going anywhere, sometimes overwhelmed him.

She'd never realized how much it had hurt him-back in college-when they'd have sex and she'd run off because of a case, or to sneak home, or just because the feelings were too strong. Veronica kissed along his jaw, burying her fingers in his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. "I love you."

Smiling, he kissed her nose. "I love you, too."

She scrunched her nose at him. "We forgot the condom again."

"Shit." He rubbed circles in the small of her back, planting kisses in her hair. "I'm sorry, Veronica."

"It wouldn't be the most terrible thing in the world," she said with a shrug. "Maybe we could…" _Have a boy_ , was what she almost said. Shame burned through her and she buried her face in his chest. She couldn't replace Tyler by giving him a son. "Logan, I…" _Come on, Veronica. Put on your big girl pants and tell him what you did_.

"Changed your mind and want another baby or two? I'm in." He rolled on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. "In fact, I'd be willing to try in… ten minutes?" Rising up on his elbows, his gaze roamed her face and over her breasts. "Maybe five."

She lightly punched his shoulder. "You're insatiable."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Wrapping his arms around her waist, he flopped onto his back, taking her with him. "I'll even let you be on top."

"Let me?"

Widening his eyes, he flashed her his most guileless smile as if his intentions were completely innocent. "Unless you don't want to? I'm easy - top, bottom, standing, sitting."

"Insatiable _and_ incorrigible." And she was allowing herself to be distracted. Resting her head on his chest, she sighed. "I went to see Agent Townsend—"

"Talking about murder kills the mood. It's almost as bad as bringing up your _dad_." He faux-shuddered. "But since we're on the subject…" There was a long pause and then he asked, "Do you think Pam had anything to do with Karen's murder?"

Putting her palms on his chest, she pushed herself up to see his face. "Do you?" she asked, incredulous.

"No, of course not." Absolute, unshakable faith. Veronica almost wished he'd be a little uncertain, hesitant. He'd been more reluctant to declare _his sister_ innocent when Trina had stood accused of murder.

"But you're afraid I think she's guilty?" There was an expectant lift to his eyebrows while he waited for her to answer her own question. "Well, I don't," she said, flatly, rolling out of bed. Locating her boots, she sat in one of the chairs to put them on.

"Where are you going?"

"I need my bag from the car. This" —she waved a hand over her outfit— "was for you; I'm not going to Shenanigans dressed like this."

A deep frown marred his brow. He was probably trying to figure out where he went wrong. Why her mood had changed from wanton sex kitten to ice princess. Veronica couldn't help him- she didn't know. He swung his legs off the bed. "I'll go get it."

"No, you should shower." She shook out his jeans in search of the room key. "Pam will be here to pick you up soon." Unused condoms spilled onto the floor along with the key. She scooped them up, sticking the key in her cleavage, and tossing the four condoms on the bed. "Optimistic much?"

"Hopeful." Was his word, dejected was how he looked. She couldn't leave him like this.

Crossing to the bed, she stood in between his knees. "Hey, I'm only going to the parking lot, not Siberia. I'll be back in like two minutes." She tugged the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head back to kiss him. Falling into him, she toppled them both onto the mattress.

His hands traveled up her thighs. "So what you're saying is" —he touched his lips to hers— "that you're going to come right back and" —he kissed her bottom lip, gently nibbled— "join me in the shower?"

Showers and hotel rooms - the last bastions of uninterrupted-by-children marital sex. She shook her head. "But you know… this isn't a short-stay motel and checkout time is what? Probably eleven? Twelve?"

"Noon," he confirmed.

"And Wallace doesn't need to leave for school until seven." Reaching across the mattress, she patted the bed in search of the condoms. Her fingers closed around them. "What say, we come back here after our shift and" —she flapped the condoms in his line of sight— "work our way through these?"

"You have the best ideas."

"Remember you said that next time I ask you to build my garden bed." She kissed her way over his chest and down his stomach, backing off the mattress.

Sitting up, he put his hands on her hips, preventing her from leaving. "The only beds I'm interested in are for sleeping and sex."

"Who said we can't have sex in the garden?"

His eyebrows bobbed. "You want to get dirty while we get dirrty?"

"Sure, why not? I might even let you hose me down."

Groaning, he buried his face in her stomach. "I love you, Veronica Mars."

"I know." She kissed the top of his head. "Now go hit the showers, Lieutenant."

He dropped his arms, releasing her. "Is a yes ma'am sufficient, or do you want me to salute you?"

Veronica's gaze fell to his lap. "I think you already _are_ saluting me."

Grabbing a pillow, he thwacked her ass with it, and fell back onto the tumbled sheets. "Wench."

Flipping her hair, she sashayed her way to the door, giving him a little extra sass in her step. His chuckle followed her into the hall.


	21. Wicked Game

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Going into Shenanigans tonight was necessary. Otherwise, she might consider taking full advantage of the hotel room and her husband. She wasn't worried about being fired. Pam wouldn't do it and, apparently, neither would Joey since he had plans for her. _Eww_. But Karen's murder made working tonight mandatory. Veronica needed to check the schedule board, talk to the dancers, and possibly question The Mountain… _Bart,_ she corrected.

Bag in hand, she returned to the room. The sound of the shower said Logan had followed orders. She put the duffel on the dresser, taking out the things she'd need to get ready and the change of clothes she'd packed for Logan. Peeling off her boots, she lined them up on the floor, and scrunched her toes in the carpet. Since they were coming back, she didn't need to pack up their stuff, but it wouldn't hurt to have it all together. She neatened the room- picking up the tossed clothes, putting the condoms on the nightstand, and started making the bed.

"That's what maid service is for," Logan said from beneath the towel he was using to dry his hair. Another towel was slung low around his hips.

"Aw, do hotels bring back fond memories of having your every need met by housekeeping?"

"Not _every_ need." Losing both towels, he lunged across the bed for her. Hands around her waist, he lifted her from the floor and pulled her onto the mattress. He rolled onto his back, sitting her astride his stomach. "You know you're the only one who fills those requirements."

Bending at the waist, he raised his shoulders from the bed, and puckered up for a kiss. Veronica tipped forward, meeting him halfway and gave him a quick peck on the lips. With a sigh, she said, "There is one thing I miss about those days."

"Making out in the stacks at the library?" The corner of his mouth curled upward. It was both sexy and charming. Veronica shook her head and he tapped a finger against his lips, contemplating. "Sex on the suite balcony?"

Using a low, seductive drawl, she said, "No, I miss" —her hands slid over his chest— "the twenty-four hour room service." Logan bucked his hips, knocking her off him and she tumbled onto the bed, laughing. "Brioche French toast, cheddar cheese popovers, crème brûlée, mascarpone cheesecake … _mmm_."

"Of _course_ she remembers the menu." He addressed the good-natured complaint to the ceiling.

Veronica poked his side. "Come on, that's one of the things you love about me- my healthy appetite _s_." She stressed the plural.

"True." Pulling her close, he kissed her nose. "And I love feeding both of them."

Knocking on their door made her withdraw. "Did you call Pam with our room number?"

"Right before my shower." He jackknifed off the bed. "Clothes?"

Veronica pointed to the new pile on the dresser, and waited until he disappeared into the bathroom before getting up to answer the door. Would it be rude to make Pam wait in the hall? Did she care if it was? She'd expected Pam to wait for Logan in the parking lot or the lobby, not come to the room. It felt like an invasion of their intimate space.

She cracked open the door and leaned on the edge, blocking Pam's entry and view. "Logan's just getting dressed, he'll be out in a minute."

Pam seemed nonplussed by the lack of invitation inside, frowning and glancing down the hall. "Should I wait in the lobby?"

 _Yes_. Instead Veronica ignored the question and said, "Before you create the schedule, don't forget to take a picture of the whiteboard from last night and text it to me." She'd told Logan she didn't think Pam had anything to do with Karen's murder, but it was in Veronica's nature to turn over stones. "Did you leave the club at all last night?"

There was a pause for thought and then Pam shook her head. "I did three separate sets on the main stage and worked the floor. Oh, and one of my regulars came in, he wanted a private dance- paid for the entire hour."

Security cameras on the floor and in the back rooms could confirm the alibi, if Veronica was so inclined to check. "I noticed there are no cameras in the hall outside Joey and Sam's office and none by the employee entrance- know why?"

Pam shrugged ignorance.

Not wanting to record their comings-and-goings? Establishing a security dead-spot to safely molest the dancers in the hall? Avoiding a record of "guests" entering their office? Veronica believed all three. "I didn't see Joey on the floor much; is it normal for him to spend most of the night in his office?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. "He likes to be in the club, mingling with the customers, pretending they're in the same class."

Class wasn't a word Veronica would use to describe anyone or anything inside that club.

"Hey." Logan bumped up against her, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her temple. If he found anything odd about Veronica keeping Pam in the hall, he didn't comment. He also didn't rush her to move, waiting until she stepped back before slipping from the room. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Veronica stared at him. He looked troubled, like he was seeking her permission to leave. Was she letting off a scent that said _I don't want you to go_? Were there jealousy pheromones? Something about her posture or expression was obviously causing him concern. She touched his cheek, reassuring, and said, "Don't forget the credenza."

He smirked. "Yes, dear."

"And don't get caught," she reminded, closing the door on them. She pressed her forehead against the door, shut her eyes, and resisted the urge to look through the peephole as Pam and Logan's muffled voices retreated down the hall. It was easier ignoring that impulse than the one that wanted to embed a listening device on her husband. Too bad he didn't wear glasses. She could bug the frames, and bye-bye private conversations with Pam.

Veronica consoled herself with the fact that Trust was winning its epic battle with Jealousy and went to shower.

Joey, Sam, Dom, and Michael were her top suspects for Karen's murder. Sam, Dom, and Michael had been conspicuously absent from the club. Joey was acting against type by not staying front-and-center all night, schmoozing with the clientele and eyeballing the dancers. Were they all in it together? Did they kill Karen to retrieve the cash and drugs? If that was the motive, which one of them actually pulled the trigger?

Veronica moved Sam to the bottom of the list. He wasn't the type to get his hands dirty. Give the orders for it to be done? Sure. Shoot a girl himself? _Eh_. It was possible. He probably didn't appreciate one of his employees stealing from him, and he might enjoy being the last face Karen ever saw. But Veronica didn't peg him as the trigger-man.

The problem with any of these theories was the supposition that Karen was the thief. Yes, she'd gone into hiding and refused to come to the club, but she hadn't run that far. With two hundred grand at her disposal, Veronica would have fled to a destination further than San Diego, and she certainly wouldn't have stayed with family. So why hadn't Karen left the area?

 _If_ she'd stolen the money…

But it wasn't just money, half of the theft was five kilos of coke. Had she been trying to sell it? Did she have a buyer? Is that why she remained local? How would the average person even know _how_ to move the drugs? Was there an app for that? _Siri, where can I sell five kilos of cocaine in San Diego?_

Veronica dried off and ran a brush through her wet hair, twisting and pinning it in a loose chignon. Donning a pair of skinny jeans, a crop top, and ballet flats, she grabbed her bag and the room key and headed for the parking lot. On the walk, she checked her phone. The text from Pam with the schedule was waiting.

Shenanigans opened at nine p.m. and closed at four a.m. and they operated Tuesday through Sunday nights. Pam needed to be there at least an hour early in order to prepare the schedule. Dancers were required to come a half hour before their shift. Veronica knew that Pam, Lacey, Reina, and Siobhan were all there by eight-thirty.

Veronica settled into the driver's seat and started the car, leaving it in park. Using her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged the picture of the schedule on her phone screen.

Leo said the first 911 call had come in at two a.m. How long would it take after the shots for the neighbor to make the call? Middle of the night, probably asleep, the first shot wakes you up. Sleep-muddled, you're not sure what you heard —a loud television, a car backfiring, your imagination— and then the second shot. If you're the blonde in a horror movie, you go investigate. Average person picks up the phone and calls the police. Elapsed time? Five to fifteen minutes? Veronica went with ten.

Giving the killer an hour travel time —thirty minutes each way— and another half hour to confront Karen and commit the crime, it was a tight ninety minutes. They'd also need time to clean themselves up and change. It wasn't like they were going to perform in a costume covered with high-impact blood spatter. Veronica added more time.

Two hours.

She glanced at the complicated schedule. It was going to take more than a few seconds to track the movements of each dancer and she needed to get to the club. Tossing her phone into her bag, she drove from the parking lot.

Where were the bloody clothes and the gun?

Did the killers change in their cars, leaving the items in the vehicle? There were no cameras in the hall between the employee entrance and the dressing room, but would they chance cleaning up there? What if the dressing room wasn't empty? Girls went back and forth to change costumes, take smoke breaks, make phone calls. It would be too risky to change in the club and shove the stuff in a locker.

Unless the blowback was minimal and the killer was wearing dark clothes. Blood wouldn't necessarily be visible to the naked eye, or to the security camera in the dressing room. And, if they did change inside Shenanigans, would they leave proof inside a locker?

Looking for trace evidence in dressing rooms and gunshot residue on steering wheels would require a forensics team, but she could give them a cursory search if she could block the camera. Unless of course Logan had already found the bloody items stashed in Joey's credenza, called the police, and had all the bad guys arrested, shutting down the club… permanently.

There were no blue-and-red flashing lights or police officers in tactical gear as she drove through Shenanigans' front gates. _Rats, foiled again._

Veronica parked in the same spot as last night and dug through her purse for a pack of Honeyrose herbal cigarettes. It was dark enough in the parking lot that no one would notice they were non-tobacco, non-nicotine, and vanilla-flavored. She put one in her mouth, letting it dangle from her lips, and walked toward Bart. "Do you happen to have a light?"

He withdrew a Zippo from his front pocket, flicked back the lid with his thumb, and rolled the flint wheel. Dropping her bags at her feet, Veronica cupped her hands around his to light her cigarette. "Thanks," she said, stepping back. "You get bored out here all night by yourself?"

Bart shrugged, taking 'the strong and silent type' maxim to heart.

Veronica puffed on the cigarette. "Worked here long?"

"Since it opened."

"So it's a good place to work then?" She nodded in answer to her own question. "Thank God, I was worried, you know? That it would be a shithole, but it's not." Waving her hand toward the ocean, she smirked. "Obviously. But the people, how are they? I mean the dancers seemed friendly enough, but what about the bosses? Joey, that's his name right? How's he?"

Her excessive chatter didn't seem to loosen Bart's tongue. All he said was, "He's decent."

Apparently, Bart needed a dictionary. "I know he owns the place, but does he like, run it? Or is that Pam chick really the one in charge? I knew her back in the day —she's the one that got me the job— but it's weird thinking of her as my boss, know what I mean?"

A blank stare.

Mountain might have been the wrong nickname for him because at least the hills were alive with the sound of music. This guy didn't make any noise. Even his breathing was quiet. She tried again. "Is Joey here like every night? Because I didn't see him around yesterday."

"He was here."

"Really? All night?" Bart looked askance at the question and Veronica covered with more words. "I was just like really hoping to see him. Pam said he did these private parties upstairs where I could make some serious cash and a girl's gotta eat, right?"

A non-committal grunt from Bart made Veronica sigh. She was getting nowhere fast. "Is he here now?" she asked, flicking away her cigarette and half-turning toward the lot. From the corner of her eye she watched him and followed his gaze to a silver S-Class Mercedes.

"Yeah, he's here."

"Cool." Retrieving her bag from the ground, she pushed through the employee entrance. "Thanks again for the light." She tossed the courtesy over her shoulder before the door closed.

The hall wasn't empty. Two dancers were huddled together outside the dressing room. The taller of the two, an ash-blonde with a pixie cut and a pale, elfin face, was —if she remembered correctly— Chloe. She was visibly upset and being comforted by someone Veronica hadn't met- a petite dancer with dark brown skin and a riot of ebony curls. Both of them were already in costume, but tears had trashed their makeup.

"Is everything okay? Are you alright?"

"She's upset about Karen," the unnamed dancer responded. "We both are." Her tone was a little hostile, posture stiff and unwelcoming.

Veronica played dumb. "Karen?"

"Right, you're new." The girl gave her the once-over and relaxed, evidently deciding Veronica wasn't a threat. Holding out her hand, she said, "I'm Scandal" —with a slight grimace, she shook her head and corrected herself— "Tasha."

"Amber. It's nice to meet you."

"Karen works here," Chloe said, answering Veronica's question. The present-tense 'works' initiated a new round of tears. " _Worked_ here. She was… she…"

Tasha took over the story. "She was killed last night."

Widening her eyes in feigned surprise, Veronica gasped, "Oh no, that's awful; was it some kind of accident?"

"Not unless she accidentally shot herself in the head." Tasha held up two fingers. "Twice."

"Tash!" Chloe snapped, and Veronica wasn't sure if the reprimand was for the bluntness, or because she'd shared the information with a stranger. Tash lifted one slender shoulder in a casual shrug as if to say, _she's going to hear it from somebody_.

"Do they know who did it?" Veronica quickly stepped back, glancing up and down the hall. "Oh my God, it didn't happen _here_ did it? Was it one of the customers?"

Reflexively, Tasha looked around her, perhaps considering the possibility of being murdered inside Shenanigans. "It wasn't in the club, but—"

Silver, eavesdropping from the doorway of the dressing room, completed the sentence. "It could've been a client," she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and dropping her voice. "Karen did the private parties and some of those guys are sketchy." Her hand moved to her neck, fingers lightly touching her jugular notch.

Neither Chloe nor Tasha disagreed with Silver's assessment of the upstairs clientele.

Pushing off from the door frame, Silver adjusted her metallic bandeau top, and then smoothed her fingers over the front of the matching booty shorts. Shoulders back, she patted her hair. "Well, you know what they say, the show must go on." Moving past them, she sauntered down the hall.

Her departure spurred Tasha into action. "Come on, Clo, I'll help you fix your makeup," she offered, taking the other girl's hand and tugging her into the dressing room.

Veronica followed them and paused by the door to check the schedule. It was almost the same as yesterday —two sets on each of the side stages— but tonight, Amber's name was also on the list for the main stage. _Hooray_.

She'd worn the slinky black dress for Logan, but tonight's costume was also for him, and she'd brought her trench coat with her so she could wear it back to the hotel. Veronica took a seat at the counter to do her hair and makeup first.

Siobhan was holding court. Sitting in the center of the dressing room, she was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in describing the police visit to her house. Some of the girls seemed entertained, but Bridget was shooting her nasty looks in the mirror, and Cyn would occasionally roll her eyes when the theatrics were too over-the-top.

Silver said the show was out front, but Veronica suspected it was taking place right here. Too bad she'd missed the first act.

"—wanted someone to identify the body, and I was like, no way. Could you see me at the morgue?"

 _Well, certainly not dressed like that_. She was wearing a white lace g-string with a bow at the back and nude, heart-shaped lace pasties. There was more cotton inside the neck of a pill bottle.

"I mean, if anyone could make a dead man sit up and take notice it would be me, but…" Another eyeroll from Cyn, and a snicker of disapproval from somewhere across the room. Unheeded, Siobhan continued. "I'm so glad I made her move out last week. What if I had been there? I could be dead too."

There was a murmured, "Yeah, can you imagine no Siobhan?" The comment was fraught with sarcasm. Veronica searched the room in the mirror's reflection, trying to identify the speaker, but to no avail.

"We're all glad you're okay," Lacey said, touching Siobhan's leg.

"It was just so horrible. To have this happen to one of us..." Siobhan faux-shuddered. "I was gonna stay home tonight, but I had to be here with my girls."

Veronica felt her own eyes starting to roll and ducked her head so no one would notice. Siobhan continued to prattle on in the same vein, amping up what she was calling her 'near-death experience' and Veronica tuned her out. None of it was useful information.

 _Why didn't I stay at the hotel with Logan?_

Bart wouldn't confirm if Joey had left the building at any point last night, and Siobhan was favoring dramatics over facts.

She considered the other girls.

Chloe and Tasha's reactions to Karen's death spoke of a possible friendship, which might offer new insights into Karen. Veronica would have to find a way to get them alone for a little Q&A.

Reina would probably have some details about the phone call from the police; she'd gotten the story fresh from Siobhan before the melodrama kicked into gear. If Veronica timed it right, she might be able to join her for one of her cigarette breaks.

Bridget would have gossip and maybe more than a few guesses as to whodunit, but everything she said needed to be taken with a _container_ of salt. She eyed Cyn - cynical, but friendly. Veronica could work with that combination.

After misting her face with makeup-setting spray, she crossed to the lockers. If she lingered long enough hopefully Siobhan would leave for her first set and Veronica could talk to Cyn. She took out her costume, shoved the bag in her oversized locker, and returned to the chairs, sandwiching herself between Bridget and Cyn.

"God, will she ever shut up?" Bridget muttered.

"What do you think happened? Silver said it might be one of the clients?" Veronica rolled on one of the sheer black, thigh-high stockings, adjusting the back seam so it was straight.

"I don't think so." A furtive glance in the mirror. "You know how it is, they'll flirt, try to get your real name, follow you to your car, but track you down at your _mother's_ house?" Bridget shook her head.

"Normally, I'd agree with Bridge." Cyn mixed some copper glitter into her lip gloss. "Especially with these clients. They aren't interested in dating a stripper and they don't have white knight syndrome. Plus if they wanted someone waiting at home who would let them get their kink on in bed, they have enough money to make it happen."

"Finally!" Bridget threw up her hands in hallelujah - Siobhan was gone and the dressing room was quiet. "That girl gets on my last nerve."

Ignoring her, Veronica prompted, "Normally you'd agree, but this time you don't?" She snapped up her black bustier —covered in red lace, it had an eyelash-lace ruffled hem, and a matching thong— and then attached the garters.

"The guys Sam and Joey bring to the private parties? They're not… regular customers."

Veronica had a feeling Cyn didn't mean regular as in they frequented the club, but more like they weren't your average strip club patron. Sitting back down, she strapped her feet into the six-inch spiked heels.

"I mean some of them are the same guys from down here - the ones with the money to make it happen." She shared a knowing look with Veronica in the mirror and Veronica nodded that she understood - they were the guys who'd pay to 'get their kink on' as Cyn had so eloquently put it. "But the other ones? Scary dudes."

"Then why do you work here? If they're so scary?"

"It's a good gig." Cyn frowned at her. "The money's great, the customers tip big, and I don't have to pay to perform." She examined her makeup with a critical eye and added more blush. "I just stay away from the parties."

"Oh? I thought all the girls had to do them?"

"No way. If that were true, I'd be out." She dosed her teased hair with spray. "What made you think that?"

"Joey said—"

"Fuck that shit." A dismissive wave. "He's got a thing for small women, especially blondes - buys into that myth that they're extra tight. He's probably" —she wiggled her pinkie in the air— "If you get what I'm saying."

Veronica did; she also had a better idea, now, of what disgusting things Joey may have said to make Logan so angry. "Did Karen work the parties?"

Cyn nodded, saying, "And I'd bet that's what got her killed." She wasn't wrong; it just wasn't for the reasons she was thinking. Turning, Cyn pointed at her head. "You want me to pin up your hair? With that smokin' outfit you should do something special."

It bought her more time for more questions. "Sure." Veronica swiveled in her seat. "So what goes on at the parties? Can you make a lot of money?"

"Pay attention to where I'm putting the bobby pins. I'm gonna use the long ones so you can pull them out onstage and let your hair fall - it'll be hot." She worked as she talked, artfully arranging locks and using the curling iron to add more bounce. It took her a while to circle back to Veronica's question and when she did, it was to deliver a warning. "Stay away from the parties; the money's not worth it."

The dressing room was empty, except for Bridget who was avidly listening to the conversation, but Veronica dropped her voice to a whisper anyway. "Are we talking prostitution?"

"That's the rumor." Six strategic pins and she was done. She sat next to Veronica, leaning close. "Something happened during the last party that made Karen quit. I heard Lacey and Siobhan talking about bruises- I'm thinking one of the guys got rough with her."

Again, not in the way she assumed. "And you think the guy responsible for the beating is the same one who killed her?"

She hesitated. "Maybe." Abruptly standing, she went to her locker to grab a pair of shoes, signaling an end to the conversation. "Shake your ass, Bridge, we need to get out there." She shoved her feet into a pair of stilettos as she walked to the door. Bridget joined her; both of them waiting expectantly for Veronica.

 _Crap_. She wasn't due on stage yet and working the floor was something she was actively trying to avoid. With a regretful glance at the lockers asking to be searched, she followed them from the room. Maybe she could find Logan and give him a private pre-show. "Have you seen Pam tonight?"

Cyn shook her head, but Bridget tossed a sly smile over her shoulder. "Last I saw, she was sneaking into Joey's office with her man - bet she's getting a close-up view of the desk." Bending forward, she smacked her ass, and sang, "Bow, chicka, wow, wow."

Subtle she was not. Veronica gritted her teeth, giving herself a sharp reminder that her husband was _not_ in fact bending Pam over the desk; they were only in there to search the office.

Once they were through the doors that led into the club, they all went in separate directions. Veronica plastered a smile on her face, moving toward the main room and looking for Logan. She skirted the bar, sticking close to the wall and avoiding eye contact.

Stepping over the threshold from the relatively quiet bar to the main stage, she was assaulted by music. _'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it_. Expensive audio engineering and directional sound technology kept the music from bleeding into the separate stage areas, allowing the club to have an almost open floor plan. It provided great sight lines and made it easy to spot Logan.

He was up against the back wall; his eyes watching the audience in front of both the main stage and the one in the space that used to be… the dining room? She really needed to see those blueprints.

Rihanna was still singing. _Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it_. Lacey was finishing her set. Sinuous and fluid, she climbed the pole to the ceiling. Gripping it between her thighs, she arched her spine until she was upside down, and then slowly started to spin toward the floor. At the last minute, she inverted her body and did a split, landing on the stage with her legs spread.

Veronica's gaze dropped to the crowd. It wasn't like the strip club Logan had brought her to. There were no guys jammed close to the stage with dollar bills in hand. No money thrown on the floor or stuffed into Lacey's g-string. The men lounged in hand-crafted, custom leather chairs, watching the show and leaving tips on the tables at their elbows. There was a prevailing sense of ownership; sultans being entertained by a harem.

The _thump-hiss_ of the opening backbeat to _Closer_ started to play. Veronica's eyes flew to the stage. Pam wasn't on the schedule tonight; _Chloe_ was supposed to be dancing now.

 _You let me violate you_. Pam was in a black mesh catsuit, crawling across the stage toward a chair. _You let me penetrate you_. Veronica turned away from her and her brazen, fuck-you confidence and looked at Logan.

He was watching Pam. To a casual observer it would look like he was checking out his girlfriend's performance, but Veronica was intimately familiar with his body language, and he was not happy. A slight downturn at the edge of his mouth, a crease between his brows, and a quick neck scratch before shoving his hand in his pocket signaled agitation.

She backed from the room, returning to the bar. "Two shots of tequila." The bartender placed them in front of her, along with salt and lime wedges. Veronica licked the back of her hand, applied the salt, licked again, and tossed back her shot, finishing with a suck of lime. Then repeated the steps for her second shot.

Pam was probably covering for an upset Chloe. Maybe she'd gone home, or she was hiding out in the bathroom, or she'd returned to the dressing room. It was a chance for Veronica to get her alone, question her about Karen, except she couldn't; she was due on stage after Pam finished her set.

Tempted to ask the bartender for another shot, she walked away instead. Two was her limit. She moved to the edge of the room, the only place the sound bled through. Nine Inch Nails had given way to Theory of a Deadman. _She likes to shake her ass, she grinds it to the beat; She likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth_.

Down to a black thong and pasties, Pam was spinning around the pole. Her body was parallel to the floor, one leg extended and the other stretched back over her head, her full weight supported by only her bicep and the muscles in her inner thigh. A few of the men were sitting forward, eyes riveted to the stage. Veronica refused to look at Logan.

He said he'd never been in love with Pam, and she believed him. In part because, if he had been, they would probably still be together. There would've been no Carrie, no murder accusation, no phone call to Veronica for help. Logan didn't give up and walk away from the people he loved; that was more her style. If you wanted Logan gone, you needed to push him out the door. And knowing how Pam still felt about him, Veronica doubted that would have happened.

The intro of Amber's music startled Veronica from her thoughts. She'd switched her songs for tonight, leading with _Fire Meets Gasoline_ , specifically to remind Logan of the garage. The missed cue caused her to improvise. Crossing to the stage with a sensuous slink, she pulled a pin from her hair, and tossed it on a guy's lap. She rolled her hips, sliding her hands over her body to her hair, and pulled another pin.

Touching the stage, she bent over, giving her ass a little smack. She dropped to her knees and crawled up the stairs. At the top, she did a quick turn and sat, snapping her knees open and smoothing her hands up her inner thighs.

Her eyes sought and found Logan. Instant heat. Veronica arched her back, trailing her fingertips across her stomach and over her breasts. As his eyes darkened and his tongue touched his bottom lip, she smiled. She rolled onto her stomach and tucked her knees in, popping her ass in the air and pressing her shoulders to the ground. Sliding forward she repeated the move, undulating her way across the stage.

Veronica focused on the music and Logan. Letting the rest of the room fade away, she took Pam's advice and danced for him. A private striptease designed to turn him on. Fluid seduction, bending her body into his favorite positions and doing the things she knew drove him crazy.

It wasn't until near the end of her set that her confidence wavered. Leaving the stage meant running the gauntlet - walking past the tables, collecting her tips, and flirting with the men while trying to sell them lap dances. It was orchestrated this way to keep the audience entertained for the brief time between dancers, but Veronica distinctly felt like chattel being paraded in front of potential buyers.

There was a no touching policy, but that didn't stop the ass pinch or the not-so-covert stroke of her thigh. Veronica moved through them with a cool mask of indifference and an icy smile.

"How much?" The question stopped her. Turning her head, she located the speaker. Stocky, not muscular, black hair groomed to look rakish, dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and tailored pants. He brandished the bobby pin she'd thrown on his lap earlier and repeated the question, "How much?"

"Lap dances are twenty, and the—"

"Not for a dance, for _you_." He wrapped a hand around her knee and started to slide his fingers up the inside of her thigh. With a hard stare, Veronica firmly gripped his wrist, stopping its progress and plucked it from her skin. "How much to show us a good time?" He paused and added, "All four of us."

Veronica turned on her heel, attempting to walk away from him, but Fast Hands grabbed her arm, pulling her onto his lap and squeezing her ass. Logan materialized next to the chair. "Let her go, _now_ ," he ordered, in that soft, deadly tone people mistook for calm.

His friends immediately understood what was about to happen, putting some distance between themselves and Fast Hands. With a little nervous laughter, and a whole lot of pretending they were _not_ with him, they backed up a few steps. The guy noticed too, abruptly standing and knocking Veronica off his lap.

Logan put out a steadying hand to keep her from falling and discreetly motioned her behind him, his focus never shifting from the belligerent pig. "I think you should sit back down; you're embarrassing yourself and your friends."

Fast Hands got in Logan's face. "I paid good money—"

"To watch, not touch." Logan pulled out his chair. "This is your last chance. Sit down, finish your drink."

"Or what?" The guy challenged, bumping his chest into Logan.

The guy's friends scattered, correctly interpreting Logan's shoulder roll and lethal half-smirk. "I'll remove you."

"Look this is between me and that whor—" _Crack_. Logan's right fist landed square in the guy's face. Blood spurted from his nose and he instinctively started to raise his arms to protect his head. Logan floated to the side, delivering another punch —a hard left hook to the guy's chin— and Fast Hands went down, toppling over his chair.

Bart appeared out of nowhere, effortlessly hauling the guy to his feet and dragging him toward the door. The music got louder and a flurry of girls moved onto the floor, offering lap dances and trying to restore the mood. Reina joined Siobhan on stage, sliding between her legs and dancing up her body. A bottle of champagne popped.

Business as usual.

Logan reached out to touch Veronica, reassure himself that she was unharmed, and then remembering where they were, he flexed his fingers and crossed his arm over his chest, stretching his shoulder. But his eyes asked the question, _are you okay?_

Smiling, she whispered, "You _so_ did not bring enough condoms to the hotel," as she walked past him on her way to the dressing room.


	22. Mind Your Own Business

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They didn't get any sleep at the hotel —too busy making good use of the condoms— but, thankfully, Dottie showed up at her regular time to watch the girls. She'd taken one look at an exhausted Logan and Veronica and hustled the kids from the house while Wyatt told her all about, _"Daddy's big boo-boo."_

Their little drama queen was exaggerating, of course. A small bruise on Logan's right hand was the only evidence of last night's fight. Veronica smirked. Was it really a _fight_ if the other guy did nothing but get knocked on his ass?

Opening the refrigerator, she stared at its meager contents. The bare shelves meant it had been _her_ week to go food shopping and she'd forgot. If it had been Logan's turn, it would be packed with fresh fruits and vegetables, organic milk, yogurt, lean lunch meats, cheese, and salad stuff. Veronica poked a shriveled tomato and tossed it in the trash. At least the eggs were still good.

She scrambled the last six, threw out the carton, and returned to the fridge. The spinach looked okay, maybe a little wilted, and tucked on the door was a container of feta crumbles. Now if she could only find… _aha_ , an onion. Greek- _ish_ omelets for two, coming up.

With the house quiet, she'd managed to get a solid six hours of sleep, but now she was starving. She munched on Wyatt's goldfish crackers while she cooked.

"Smells good," Logan said with a yawn, scratching his bare chest.

"I was going to bring you lunch in bed."

Half-asleep, he nodded and shuffled across the floor to the coffee pot. He sat on a nearby stool to wait for his cup to brew. "Kids still with Dot?"

"She texted; Dad's joining them for lunch at Seaport Village and then they're going to ride the carousel." Veronica cut the omelet in half and slid it onto plates. "There's no bacon or orange juice, but I can make toast if you don't mind the ends."

Logan smiled. "What exactly did Whole Foods do to piss you off?"

"I shop at Ralph's, thank you very much." She sat at the table and he ambled over to join her, carrying both his cup and one for her. Veronica frowned at the black coffee. "There's no half-and-half either."

"Sounds like someone should take care of the food situation before we have house guests for the week." Logan sipped his coffee.

"Yes, _someone_ should." Tilting her head, she caressed his forearm, and smiled.

"Unh-uh" —he shook his head— "I did laundry this week."

"But I have to go to the building department to get blueprints of Shenanigans, bring the financial information to the accountant, and I wanted to talk to Karen's neighbor." She sipped her coffee, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And maybe her mother, if she's back from Sacramento."

Swallowing his bite of eggs, he waved his fork at her. "Fine, I'll go, but I'm not taking your coupon wallet and you'll owe me one."

"Baby, you're the greatest."

Logan leaned forward, puckering his lips, and Veronica ignored him, taking another bite of omelet. "Hey" —he pouted— "a kiss usually follows that statement."

"One of these days, Alice." She gave him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. "Bang, zoom." Grabbing the leg of her chair, he dragged it across the floor, pulling her closer for a long, lingering kiss. Veronica cupped his cheek. " _Mmm_ , you're pretty good at that." She brushed her lips against his. "If you get the ingredients, tomorrow I'll make that stuffed steak you like - the one with the baby spinach and provolone."

Logan sucked on her bottom lip, gently nipped it, and then kissed her cheek. "Now what do I have to do to get those little roasted potatoes on the side?"

"Tell me what you found in Joey's office."

"Anyone ever accuse you of having a one-track mind?"

"Not today." She sized him up, mister sex-on-a-stick. "And look who's talking."

"Ah, but at least my destination is fun." Standing, he carried their empty plates to the sink, and set the Keurig to brew another cup of coffee. "There's no safe behind the painting and the credenza just hides security monitors, along with Joey's collection of DVDs - Pam thinks they're recordings of the girls."

Veronica was suddenly grateful she hadn't sat in his office chair and a little disgusted she hadn't put on gloves before touching anything in there. "Speaking of recordings, I've got some we need to listen to."

Abandoning her chair, she went to find her messenger bag.

The bug she'd planted in Karen's apartment had an excellent battery life —four weeks, in stand-by mode— but only twenty hours of actual listening time. To conserve the battery, Veronica had programmed it for voice-activation. It would capture anything over sixty decibels and call her cell with the recording.

Unfortunately, that included the television. If Karen was spending her days vegging in front of the boob tube, the only things they might be listening to were _Jerry Springer_ and _Family Feud_ \- the battery having run out long before the night of the murder.

Dropping her bag on the counter, Veronica withdrew the burner phone. "I bugged Karen's apartment," she explained to Logan, as she plugged in the Samsung.

"Can you get in trouble for that?" Lowering his coffee, he eyed the phone like it was toxic.

Veronica shrugged. "The police haven't kicked in our door… _yet_." She scrolled through the recordings. There were only seven of them; her hopes of hearing something useful dimmed. It didn't seem likely seven recordings would take them from Wednesday afternoon to the murder in the wee hours of Sunday morning.

Scrolling back to the first audio file, Veronica pressed play; it started from the moment she'd turned on the bug, right in the middle of her conversation with Karen and Pam. _'Not really. I thought it was Lacey or Siobhan, but the dealers said it was you.'_

This wasn't new information for her, but she let it play for Logan. While he listened, she loaded the dishwasher and started a grocery list, stealing the occasional glance at her husband. He remained calm and dispassionate and quiet for the entire thing, even during Karen's description of Sam and her warning to not be alone with him.

When they reached Pam's goodbye _'If you need anything, Ren, call me, okay?'_ and Karen's inaudible response, Veronica stopped writing and waited. There was the _bang_ of the closing door and then nothing. The long silence ended the audio feed.

Logan sat back, coffee cup in hand. "What made them target Karen? Why rough her up, first?"

"Pam thought it was because of her age," Veronica reminded him. "They probably thought she was the weakest link."

"Possible," he conceded. "But why hurt her" —his grip tightened on the mug— "and then leave the other dancers alone? She obviously didn't confess to the theft, or they would've killed her then, and… what made them settle on Pam?"

"They didn't leave the other dancers alone." Veronica told him about Sam's threats against Tyler. "They used Tyler to scare Pam, maybe they did the same to the other girls? Threatened someone they love? And maybe they only got physical with Karen because they had no other leverage? This was before she moved in with her mother, so they might not have known she existed."

Nodding, he dragged a hand over his face, and turned his head to stare out the window. Veronica doubted he was studying the swingset that intently. The question _what are you thinking_ hovered over her like a cartoon thought-bubble, but she was afraid to ask, because it probably involved Pam.

Instead Veronica answered his other question. "They may have settled on Pam because she's in charge? I mean, she interacts with the other girls on a daily basis, knows their lives, schedules, and possibly their secrets? They might've thought it would be impossible for a dancer to get away with the theft without Pam knowing?"

Logan's gaze returned to the kitchen, landing on Veronica. His eyes were troubled and he seemed uneasy, shifting in his chair and fiddling with the coffee mug. "I wasn't in love with Pam." The firm repetition of his earlier claim ignited a spark of worry in Veronica about what he would say next. "She was easy." He winced at the word choice. "Our _relationship_ was easy."

"As opposed to ours?"

A hard stare and then his eyes softened, melting into those tough-to-resist pools of tenderness. "This isn't a competition. It's not Logan with Pam versus Logan with Veronica. I love _you_ ; I'm in love with _you_."

"I know that, Logan."

"Now, you know it now, but I'm talking about even back then. I couldn't see past wanting you and missing you. Maybe if that wasn't true, things would've been different, but that's the way it was, and it took me a long time to let go."

But he did eventually —he moved on with Carrie— which must have hurt Pam, watching him fall in love with someone who wasn't her.

"By the time I got clean and sober, I'd left Neptune and Pam. I didn't see her again for a year and things were different; I had plans for my life and they didn't include her."

Harsh. "But you still slept with her."

"What do you want me to say, Veronica? That the sex was good and uncomplicated?" No, she definitely didn't need him to say that. Logan shook his head. "But it didn't _mean_ anything past the physical, we were never _romantic_."

On his part maybe, but the same wasn't true for Pam. "Why bring this up now?"

"Because I care about her; she's important to me. In the same way Mac and Wallace are important to you."

 _Doubtful_. Veronica smirked. _I haven't had sex with my friends_.

Correctly reading her expression, Logan sighed. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Pam." The gentle reminder snapped Veronica from her funk. "Me wanting to help her isn't because of any deep, lingering feelings. I owe her, and I don't want to see anything happen to her."

"I don't either. Not just because she saved your life, but because… I like her." _Crap, I_ do _like her._ It was her turn to sigh. Despite her best efforts to hate the woman, Veronica could see _why_ Logan had kept her in his life. "So how about we get back to the 'helping Pam' portion of our day?" She nodded toward the phone.

Without waiting for a response, Veronica scrolled to the next recording and hit play. It was the return of Karen's mother to the apartment, presumably after work, since Karen asked her how her day was, and Mom launched into a detailed story about planning holiday displays for the store.

Veronica went back to the grocery list, adding turkey and cheddar and a loaf of French bread. Now she wanted a sandwich. Thinking about food while hungry was not a good plan, and that tiny omelet had not been filling. Tossing down the pen —Logan could figure out the shopping without her help— she wandered into the pantry to stare at the shelves.

' _Hey Ma, I think you should take a coupla days off from work - go see Kev.'_

' _I just told you, we're really busy at the— is this 'cause of the trouble you're mixed up in?'_

Peanut butter and spoon in hand, Veronica sat back down to hear Karen's response. Logan smirked at the huge glob of peanut butter Veronica shoved in her mouth and she shrugged. On the tape Karen said, _'I already bought you a plane ticket; the flight leaves tonight.'_

' _Are you coming with me?'_ A nonverbal response, probably a negative head shake, since Veronica knew Karen never left. _'Oh Karen, how do you always end up making a complete mess of your life… and mine?'_

' _This isn't my fault'._ Karen's words faded, as if they were moving away from the living room and out of range of the microphone.

Her mother's faint, _'It never is,'_ was followed by silence and the recording stopped. With no desire to resume their conversation about Pam or the past, Veronica immediately pressed play on the next audio file. It was short. Karen insisting on driving her mother to the airport, _'I'll feel better if I watch you get on the plane.'_ Mom suggesting they go to Sacramento together, Karen refusing, and Mom leaving with an admonition to _'clean this place while I'm gone.'_

Logan stood. "I'm no expert on having a caring mother, but she could've tried a little harder to get her daughter to come, no?" He watched Veronica eat another spoonful of peanut butter, frowned, and crossed to the freezer. "Now disappointing people, that's something I'm intimately familiar with, and it sounds like Karen was a constant source of unhappiness for her mother."

She nodded in agreement with his assessment of Karen and her mom and then asked, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Getting food for my starving wife." From the back bottom of the freezer, he withdrew a container labeled _beets_. "It's from my Veronica-emergency food stash."

"Have you actually met me? I don't like beets," she said, scrunching her nose. "I'll just stick with the peanut butter, thanks."

"I _have_ met you; that's why the lasagna is cleverly disguised." After a quick thaw in the microwave, he covered the square pan with foil, put it on a baking sheet, and placed it in the oven. "Dick made it when he was here baking the cannolis."

 _Mmm_. Dick's lasagna was amazing. She jutted her chin toward the freezer. "What else you got in there?"

"Why? Is an entire tray of pasta and cheese not enough for you?"

"Hardy, har, har." To distract herself from the heating food, Veronica started the next file. The _Friends_ theme song blared from the phone and was quickly replaced by an infomercial _'but wait, there's more, order now and—'_ The channel changed again. Snippets of late night shows followed as Karen cycled through stations until she finally decided on something.

 _Did you know they took my gallbladder out… it's still in the hospital in a jar._ Veronica frowned at the familiar dialogue. "Fried Green Tomatoes," Logan supplied, rejoining her at the table. "Jessica Tandy, Kathy Bates - it's near the beginning."

Using her computer to check TV listings for the previous week, she found the movie late on Wednesday. Network television - three hours with commercials. Ugh. Only three recordings to go and they weren't even past the first day. Veronica stopped the movie _—_ she didn't have time to listen to Karen watch television _—_ and skipped ahead.

' _It's me. Did you tell Pam where to find me?'_ From the lack of response, Veronica assumed a phone call. _'Well, she was here.'_ Long pause. _'No. God, get a grip, I already told you I don't have them.'_ Them? It would be an odd way to refer to the missing cash and drugs. _'They're like fifty bucks, go buy another—'_ A loud huff from Karen. _'I told you I don't.'_ Some uh-huhs and a final, _'Whatever.'_

The television clicked on. _'Why does she care so much about those damn—'_ Loud canned laughter drowned out the rest of Karen's skimmed, periodically checking the recording for conversation, but only found television, television, and still more television.

Logan dropped his head on the table. "Can we go back to Fried Green Tomatoes? This is boring as fuck."

"You're the one who wanted to play detective."

He looked up at her. "Yes, but I expected sexy flirting, glamorous locales, and car chases." 

Veronica patted his cheek. "Chin up, we're almost done, and then you can go to the glamorous Whole Foods, sexy-flirt with the cashier, and" _—_ she checked the clock _—_ "chase a toddler up-and-down the aisles." Dropping her hand from his face, she tapped the phone's touch screen.

Karen's frantic, _'Oh my god; I'm so fucked,'_ made Logan's head pop up from the table. Sounds of shuffling and banging punctuated the conversation Karen was obviously having with herself. _'What 'm I gonna do?'_ A clack-clack sound. _'Think, dammit'._ Another bang and the bug went silent.

"Play the next one." Logan wiggled his fingers at the phone.

"Sure, now you're interested," Veronica scoffed while complying with his request.

—' _I know what you did.'_

—' _No, I'm not gonna tell anyone.'_

—' _Cut me in on the deal.'_

—' _I will, someplace safe.'_

And now Veronica knew what had happened. The triggering event that made them focus on Karen. She _called_ them and told them… what exactly? Veronica played it again. Confrontation, promise to keep quiet in exchange for a piece of the action, and then _'someplace safe.'_ Was she telling them, _she_ was leaving, changing her hideout for a more secure location? Or did she actually _have_ the cash and drugs and was planning to stash them?

Veronica leaned toward the latter explanation, because… still at her mother's and dead. So at some point in between these recordings Karen had figured out the identity of the thief and found the stolen goods. Leo said the police hadn't located either the coke or cash at the crime scene, which meant Karen had hidden them- but where? Or had she given up the location hoping to save her life when the killer threatened her with a gun?

Priorities for the afternoon shifted. The building department and accountant could wait until tomorrow morning. "Feel like flirting with some neighbors and breaking into a crime scene?"

"I'm always up for a little B and E." Logan interlocked his fingers and bent his hands back, cracking his knuckles. "But, what about the food shopping?"

Veronica tore the list from the pad, folded it, and tucked it in her bag. "When we're done, we'll pick up the kids and take a family trip to the market. Now, go get ready and be quick about it." The oven timer dinged. "I'll eat while you dress."

Logan smirked. "I thought we were in a hurry, _dear_?"

"There's always time for lasagna… _darling_ , now scoot." Picking up her real phone, she sent Dottie a text: _Can you take the kids home with you? L and I will pick them up in an hour or two_. By the time she'd taken the pan from the oven and got a fork, her phone chimed a response - _See you then_.

Plugging a USB cable into her laptop, Veronica transferred the recordings, then deleted them from the burner. She'd get rid of the phone on the way to the apartment building. This way, if the police found the bug and traced the number from its SIM card, it would lead them to a destroyed cell, purchased in cash.

The recordings _might_ be admissible in court, if and when the police caught Karen's killer. They had probative value, providing a potential motive for the crime, but Veronica didn't see the need to turn them over yet. She wasn't going to solve anything behind bars at the county jail while the district attorney decided whether or not to charge her. Best to take a wait-and-see attitude.

She shoveled another forkful of lasagna into her mouth.

What had Karen known that allowed her to figure out the identity of the thief? And how did she find the cash and drugs? Did she stop by the club sometime between Veronica's visit on Wednesday and her subsequent murder? Were the stolen goods still inside the VIP room after the party, and did Karen take them with her? Or, did she see something, which triggered a memory and allowed her to piece together their whereabouts?

There were too many questions.

"Uh, when I said 'starving wife' it was supposed to be hyperbole, not actual fact." Logan was staring at the half-eaten tray.

She gave him a sheepish smile. "I was hungry."

"No shit. Should I make another cup of coffee? Wait for you to finish?"

Taking another bite, she shook her head. "No, I'm done, we can leave." Off his skeptical look, she re-covered the tray and put it in the refrigerator, proving she was finished. She gathered her things, and he took care of locking up the house behind them.

They needed to take the mom van to pick up the kids later. Logan twirled the keys around his finger, asking, "Do you want to drive?"

"That thing? Never."

"Ssh, you're going to hurt her feelings."

He lovingly patted the door and Veronica rolled her eyes, climbing into the passenger seat. "Why am I not surprised you refer to it as a girl?"

"All cars are girls." Logan started the engine. "They're temp—"

"Watch how you finish that sentence."

His look said, _you're proving my point_ , but he refrained from comment, letting the subject die. "Where are we going?"

"Take the 405 South."

The apartment door was probably still sealed with one of those pesky blue stickers _'any person breaking or mutilating this seal or entering these premises will be prosecuted'_ and so on and so forth. If the crime was in Neptune, it wouldn't be a big deal. She'd remove the sticker with some WD-40, search, and then use one of the spare labels she kept in the car for just such emergencies. In order to search Karen's place, she would have to go through the window.

She shared the plan with Logan. "While I'm searching, I'm going to need you to flirt your way into the neighbor's apartment and keep her busy."

"What if the neighbor's a he, not a she?"

"Please" —she waved away his concern— "I've _seen_ you in action, you could flirt your way past the guards at Buckingham Palace." Veronica directed him to the Mission Valley freeway and then through the streets that would lead them to Karen's.

Without her having to tell him, he drove past the building and parked down the street out of sight. Veronica smiled. She liked having him as her partner. He was attuned to her needs, insightful, an excellent sounding board, and he made a great accomplice.

The gray-boxy building was as she remembered, concrete slab parking spots, dirt patch, and an unlocked 'security' gate. Walking up the stairs, she headed right for the apartment, then frowned at the broken seal on the door. There weren't any police cars out front, or anything that looked like a detective's unmarked. Leaning over the railing, she checked the street again. Nary a Crown Vic in sight, ditto for their department replacements - the fancy Ford Interceptors.

A peek through the window confirmed a detective-free living room, but Veronica knocked on the door anyway, avoiding the fingerprint powder.

"She's not home," said a voice from behind them.

Veronica turned, looking to identify the speaker, and found a face peering out from above the door chain of apartment three. "Oh, we wanted to pay our condolences to Mrs. Wittner; we worked with Karen."

The neighbor took her time scrutinizing Logan, then Veronica. "You were here the other day with that tall redhead?"

 _Great, the de-facto president of the neighborhood watch lives next door_. Veronica nodded. "She's our boss, we wanted to see how Karen was feeling after…you know, her accident." Unsure what story Karen gave for her bruises, Veronica changed her tone on the word accident, making it sound like a euphemism.

Holding up a finger, the neighbor indicated they should wait and closed the door, rattling off the chain. It reopened and she stepped out onto the landing. "It was a terrible thing." She glanced at Karen's door and hugged her body as if warding off a chill. "I was the one who called the police. I'm Millie by the way; I've lived next to Kathy for years. She was really happy when Karen moved in —thought she'd get to spend time with her daughter— and now this. Terrible, just terrible."

Nosy, but a gossip. "I'm Amber and this is—"

"Logan," he supplied, stepping forward to shake Millie's hand. He enveloped it in both of his, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it must have been awful for you too, having that happen right next door to your home."

She smiled up at him and Veronica's eye twitched. Seriously, was there a person immune to his charms?

"It was," Millie agreed. "I hardly slept a wink last night, worried they would come back."

Veronica latched onto the description. "They?"

"Two of them, like I told the police." Another smile for Logan. "I'm a bit of a night owl and I heard them come up" —a disparaging glance at the metal staircase— "just like I heard you."

Heard? _Saw_ , more likely, while peeking through her window, but Veronica wasn't going to quibble. "Did you see their faces?"

Before even finishing the question, Millie was shaking her head with a pointed look at the exterior light fixture. "It was too dark out here to see anything."

Logan followed her gaze to the iron, flush-mounted light. "I can change that bulb for you, and maybe take a look at your locks, make sure they're secure?"

"Aren't you sweet." Millie actually _giggled_ at him, like a _schoolgirl_ , instead of a self-respecting woman in her… mid- to late fifties, Veronica guessed, based on the wrinkles under her eyes and graying hair. "I'll be right back."

Turning, she disappeared into the apartment, leaving the door open. Millie was way too trusting for someone with a murdered neighbor. Maybe Logan _should_ check her locks. He jutted his chin toward Karen's, and Veronica shook her head in answer to his question. There was no way meddlesome-Millie was going to miss Veronica picking the lock or climbing through a window.

Millie returned with a light bulb and a Phillips-head screwdriver, holding them out for Logan. He passed the bulb to Veronica while he unscrewed the cage housing. She took a few steps toward Karen's apartment, drawing Millie out onto the landing. "I noticed the door seal was broken." She waved the light bulb toward the sliced label before handing it back to Logan. "Have the police been by to check on you?"

"No. You don't think…" Her gaze was riveted by the torn sticker. "But I would've heard…" A check over her shoulder at the stairs.

"It probably happened while you were out, or asleep." _Nice, Veronica, terrify the woman, why don't you_? Then again, a touch of healthy fear might be good for her. "I'm sure it's okay; the police probably came back and forgot to put a new sticker on the door, but… maybe I should take a peek inside, make sure everything's all right?"

"I don't know if—"

"All done here, Millie." Logan stepped to the side, blocking the woman's view. "How about we take a look at those locks now?"

"Is she going to get in trouble?" Genuine concern colored Millie's voice, and Veronica felt a little bad about worrying her over the unsecured apartment. Not enough to stay outside, though.

"Amber will be fine, let's focus on you." Logan shepherded her through the door and paused at the threshold, turning his head to check on Veronica. She'd already picked the lock. Flinging open the door, she let it bang against the wall and waited to see if anyone startled. Hearing no sounds, she gave Logan a thumbs-up and stepped inside.

Treading through the scene of an active homicide investigation was not smart, and she had no plans to go further than where she stood, or to touch anything. The police would have already gone through the garbage, unopened mail, and important papers, collecting anything of value. Veronica just wanted to _see_ the space and compare it to her memory from Wednesday.

It was still dingy. Actual dirt on the floor and dusty surfaces were made worse with the addition of fingerprint powder. They'd used a bi-chromatic powder —a combination of black and aluminum— which appeared dark on light surfaces and light on dark ones.

The room was in need of a good scrub, but it was surprisingly… organized, neat almost. It spoke of a careful and meticulous search by the investigators with nothing left unexamined. Balboa County, and Lamb in particular, should take note of how an investigation was _supposed_ to work. Veronica was sure she'd find detailed sketches and full sets of photos —with a log— inside the murder book. That is, _if_ she could sweet-talk Leo into letting her take a peek.

There was blood on the floor and spatter on the wall behind an empty space. The chair Karen had sat in during their meeting was gone, along with the side table and lamp. Veronica assumed that's where she'd been sitting when she was shot and that the furniture had been transported to the lab.

No signs of forced entry. Did Karen open the door for her killers? Invite them inside? Did she think they were going to have a conversation? Discuss her attempt to extort them for a share of the stolen goods? She'd felt comfortable and safe enough to take a seat. Why? Was she confident they wouldn't hurt her, since she knew where the stuff was stashed? Or did she know the person? Trust them?

Using the edge of her sleeve, Veronica turned the knob lock, shut the door, and crossed to Millie's apartment. Logan was sitting at the counter, drinking lemonade, listening to Millie talk about the changes in the neighborhood, and how she thought it was getting safer.

"Everything's locked up tight next door and no one's inside," Veronica interrupted.

"Good." She nodded. "That's good, but I'm still going to call the police; they should know that someone went in there."

"That's probably best," Veronica agreed. She paused, acting as if the question just occurred to her. "Millie, the two people you saw go into the apartment- how long were they here before you heard the gunshots?"

"Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes?"

Logan stood, thanked her for the lemonade, and kissed her cheek. "Now don't forget to call my friend" —he tapped a piece of paper on the counter— "And he'll install a new deadbolt for you."

"I will." Millie looked at Veronica. "You hang on to this one, hon, he's a keeper."

"Oh, we're not a couple; we just work together."

Millie didn't say anything, but the sad head shake and sigh were enough to communicate her feelings on the issue. She walked them to the door, lamenting the fact that she didn't have a daughter Logan could date. Veronica rolled her eyes and headed down the stairs, leaving Logan to say goodbye to his fan club of one.

He was wearing a smug smile when he joined her at the car. "See, I told you I was a catch."

Veronica slid into the passenger seat. "Did you two have enough alone time? Or would you like to go back and finish your lemonade?"

"No, it's okay." His smile grew. "She has my number."

"We all have your number." She closed the door on him and buckled her seatbelt, waiting until he was in the car to ask, "Learn anything interesting during your quiet tête-à-tête?"

"As a matter-of-fact, I did. Our height difference made Millie remember something about the killers - one was considerably shorter than the other, and she's almost positive they were a man and a woman."


	23. We Are Detective

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 _A man and a woman_. Veronica had played out the scenarios while they'd picked up the girls and gone food shopping, continued to think about it through dinner, bath, and bedtime, and it was still on her mind when she'd woken up this morning.

With Karen dead, there were only four strippers left who had participated in the private parties - Reina, Siobhan, Lacey, and Pam. Any one of them could be the female half of the team that had killed Karen. Veronica had checked the schedule last night, mapping out the timeline for each of them- including Pam.

Logan had been a little miffed when he'd seen her tracking Pam's movements through the night, and he didn't quite believe Veronica's _'I'm establishing her alibi'_ claim-but she didn't have a choice. She'd heard Pam telling Dottie about her desire for a house 'with a yard' and that spoke to motive. Two hundred grand would—

"Mama, boat!"

Veronica glanced out the window. She was regretting her decision to take Harbor Drive so Wyatt would be occupied on the trip to the building department. _Especially_ because 'name the boat' was not a fun game for Mommy. "It's a sailing _ship_ and it's—"

"No, pi'wat!"

"Actually, pirates used…" Veronica shook her head. When you started an argument with a toddler, you'd already lost. "Sure, you can make it a pirate ship."

"Me pi'wat… _arrgh_." With that declaration, Wyatt lost interest in the other boats, and started making Saffy the Giraffe walk the plank for stealing the treasure.

 _Stealing_.

Pam's alibi almost checked. According to the schedule, she was onstage for a set at 2:36 a.m., which was right at the end of the window. She _could_ have rushed back from Karen's apartment and gone onstage. But Veronica didn't see it as likely, and she'd told Logan as much. Her, _'I don't think Pam's a killer'_ mollified him enough that he'd volunteered to help.

The schedule had no rhyme or reason that Veronica could discern. There were girls who were onstage five times a night and some who danced only once or twice. A few of the strippers had three-hour gaps between performances, while others were dancing every hour. There were girls who only stripped on the main stage, and those who never left the satellite stages. Veronica guessed it had to do with popularity — _hello, high school_ — along with providing time for lap dances and private rooms, but she couldn't be sure. It made her doubt the viability of using the schedule to provide _any_ alibis.

But you work with what you have and, according to the board, Reina, Siobhan, and Lacey all had the time to make the drive to Karen's, commit the murder, and return for their next performance. And Karen would have felt safe inviting any one of them into the apartment, thinking she was admitting a friend.

 _With friends like that…_

Of course, Millie could be wrong. It was a little sexist to assume the partner was a woman based solely on height. Bart-the-Mountain was _really_ big; next to him an average man might look petite. Veronica needed to _see_ Sam, Dom, and—

"Mama, Saffy falled."

A quick check in the rearview showed Wyatt peering around the car seat and staring at the floor. "Because you made her walk the plank, remember?"

She nodded. "Me get."

"Wyatt Leigh Echolls, do _not_ unbuckle your car seat." _When did I become the mom who 'middle names'? It had to be the influence of this stupid minivan_. "We're almost there."

With a dramatic sigh, Wyatt flopped back into the seat. To make sure Veronica heard her, she sighed again, _loudly_ , and asked, "Gwanpa?"

Veronica repeated the schedule for her— "Blueprints, Grandpa, lunch, accountant" —and Wyatt turned it into a chant, slurring the words together, _'boo-gwanpa-pita-tant'_ while kicking her feet against the seat. Apparently, she'd decided she could drum with her sneakers _and_ that they were having pizza for lunch.

Veronica parked in the garage, delighting Wyatt with the winding drive to the top level of the helix-shaped structure. "Do 'gain?"

"On our way down." Taking Wyatt out of the car seat, she decided to forego the stroller and let her walk. This was going to be a long day of sitting in the car and it was best to let her burn off energy whenever possible. "Hold hands."

Wyatt obliged, slipping her hand in Veronica's and swinging their arms while she skipped along beside her. She provided running commentary of the things she saw on their walk, identifying the color of each car they passed, then waiting for Veronica to provide more information - Prius, Civic, Focus. The makes of the cars meant nothing to Wy, but it didn't matter; she was like Johnny 5, needing _input, more input._

There was a security camera in the elevator. Veronica stared at it, pushing the button for the fifth floor. Karen's mother lived on a residential street, but there was that mini-mall on the corner. It was possible one of the stores had a camera angle with a view of the street, specifically the liquor store with its outdoor ATM and available parking.

She'd have to remember to ask Leo when she called him for a look at the case file. She also wanted to mention the broken crime seal. Assurances for Millie aside, there was no way Veronica believed the cops returned to the scene and forgot to put a new sticker on the door. Someone, other than her, had been inside that apartment since the murder.

But why? If Karen turned over the cash and drugs, there would be no reason for the killer, or killers, to go back. Did she give them a false location, hoping to stall, buy herself time? Were the cash and drugs still in play? Or, did the killers leave something behind that might incriminate them? If so, did they find it, or was it already in evidence lockup?

Wyatt's singsong voice penetrated her thoughts. "One, two, fife, tree."

She looked at her daughter with a sinking feeling. "Don't push all…" Too late. All the buttons Wyatt could reach were glowing white.

"Me cow't."

"You're counting, huh?" Wyatt grinned in response and it was irresistible. Squatting next to her, Veronica kissed her. "Let's do it together, okay?" She pointed to a button at a time, waiting for Wyatt to supply the number, and prompting her when she forgot what came next.

The elevator doors finally opened on their floor. Veronica scooped her up, carrying her to the front desk. The brunette behind the counter wore a pinched expression. Exuding a cool bureaucratic attitude, she asked, "How can I help you?" without cracking even a hint of a smile.

"Veronica Mars, I'm here to see Jerry Schulman."

"Just have a seat over—"

"Pretty lady," Wyatt interrupted, ducking her head and staring up at the woman through lowered lashes. The compliment earned her a warm smile, and a magically-appearing lollipop from the thawing civil servant's purse. _Great, our daughter is just as flirty as her father_.

The woman stood. "You know what, why don't you come with me; I'll take you back to Jerry's office." She walked toward the half-door at the end of the counter and opened it for Veronica. "You're a little cutie pie, how old are you?"

"This many." Wyatt held up her hand and Veronica folded down three of her fingers. Looking at her hand reminded her about the lollipop, and she shoved it in Veronica's face. "Open, Mama."

Decisions, decisions. Not taking candy from strangers was a hard lesson to teach, especially since they completely negated it come Halloween. Veronica considered slipping it into her purse with the promise of _after lunch_ , but did she want to pick this battle? This called for distraction. "What about your gummy bears?"

Wyatt's eyes lit up and Veronica quickly made the one-handed switch, dropping the lollipop in her bag and pulling out the organic, no-artificial-anything bears. While Wyatt searched for all the red ones first, they followed the woman past a wall of filing cabinets, then wound their way through a sea of gunmetal gray desks to an office along the back wall.

Their escort knocked on the door and poked her head in the office. "Veronica Mars is here to see you." A muffled response came and she backed up, leaving the door open and waving goodbye to Wyatt.

Veronica took this as invitation and walked inside.

Jerry, roughly the same age and build as Keith, sat behind his desk. But unlike her dad, Jerry still had a full head of brown, curly hair. He looked up at the sound of the closing door and started to laugh. "Well, she's definitely Keith's granddaughter."

The cause for his amusement was cleared up by the comparison to Keith. _Wyatt's outfit_.

"Her father dressed her this morning; he thinks he's funny." Helping Wyatt 'accessorize' for a day of detecting with Mommy, Logan had put her in a trenchcoat and a black-and-white deerstalker cap. And good luck trying to take a hat away from their daughter.

"Me" —Wyatt pointed to her chest and frowned— "Who me?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Veronica said with a sigh, sitting the toddler in one visitor chair, and taking a seat in the other. She undid Wyatt's coat.

"You can tell your husband, from me, that I think he's funny, too. That getup's priceless- has your dad seen it yet?"

"No, but we're heading there next; I'm sure he'll be just as amused." Veronica took out a coloring book and the wonder markers, which only worked inside its pages, and gave them to Wyatt. "Did you get my message?"

"I did, and I pulled all the permits for the address you gave me." His hand covered an oversized manilla envelope on his desk. "Have to say I was a little curious - a commercial business in a residential district?" Sitting back, he took his hand off the desk, letting his arm drop to his side. "Is this your neighborhood? Are you having problems with this… this club?"

If he wanted to assume that was her reason for needing the plans, she wasn't going to disabuse him of the notion. "Why? Are you going to tell me _you can't fight city hall_?"

There was a long pause while he weighed his next words. "There was a special Board of Supervisors meeting to discuss this particular zoning variance. There were no protests from the neighbors, no dissenting votes on the board or with the planning commission." The awe in his voice alerted Veronica to the fact that this was unusual at best. "Jake Kane and Bill Gant were two of its biggest proponents, and there were others..."

And there it was. The 09er old-boy's club _literally_ opened a boy's club. "I'm not interested in shutting it down." _Yet_. "I just want to see the renovations from house to business."

Relief spread through him, loosening his shoulders, and he reached for the envelope, picking it up and handing it across the desk. Jake Kane might be dead, but the 'others' Jerry mentioned were probably people he didn't want to anger-not if he valued his job.

"Thanks for this." Veronica shoved it in her bag and bent down to pick up Wyatt, who was no longer sitting in the chair.

She was sprawled across the floor on her belly, legs bent at the knees with her feet swinging back and forth as she colored. All the caps were off the markers; pages were torn from the coloring book, crumpled and tossed wherever they landed; and, gummy bears were spilled on the tile. Five minutes of conversation and she'd created a mess. Good thing Veronica didn't have to review the plans here, or the resulting toddler damage would require weeks of cleanup, and possibly an assist from FEMA.

The green gummies on the floor were wet. "Did you spit these out?"

"No like," Wyatt informed her without looking up from her page.

"I'll take that as a yes." Scooping up the partially-chewed gelatin pieces, she searched for, and found, a garbage can. She scraped the gummies from her palm into the trash and then tossed the discarded coloring pages. It was going well until she tried to recap one of the markers.

"Boo." Wyatt snatched it from Veronica's fingers and clutched it to her chest. "Need boo." It was the same thing for the red and green markers. "I color."

"Yes, I know you're color _ing,_ but don't you want to go see Grandpa?"

"Gwanpa!" Jumping up from the floor, Wyatt threw down the markers, and raced to the door.

She had it open, ready to bolt, until Veronica's, "Wait for me," stopped her on the threshold. Chewing her fingertip, she looked at Veronica and the coloring book, and then turned to see the unexplored area beyond the door. She inched forward as if Veronica wouldn't notice her leaving.

"Here, let me help you." Jerry knelt on the floor, fishing the yellow marker cap from beneath his desk and gathering up the rest.

Thanking him, Veronica shoved everything in her bag and caught Wyatt just as she was slipping around the doorjamb. She did not want to be picked up, first squirming in Veronica's hands and then going boneless, making herself impossible to lift. "No, me wa'k."

"Okay, you can walk, but let me put on your jacket."

Wyatt endured the coat buttoning, but then she was ready to go, tugging on Veronica's fingers, trying to make her move. They headed back the same way they entered. They were almost at their destination when Wyatt spotted something interesting. Pulling her hand free, she pointed."What dat?"

"A drafting table."

Nodding like she knew exactly what it was and was just checking to make sure Veronica did, she pointed to the large printer standing next to it. "Dat?"

"It's a plotter; it prints construction blueprints."

Satisfied, she took Veronica's hand, allowing them to make it to the elevator... then back to the parking garage, where she resumed the car game. Every other word was _dat, dat, dat_ and Veronica dutifully identified each one for her - _tire, bumper, traffic cone_. "Pita now?" Wy wanted to know as Veronica buckled her into the car seat.

"You ask a lot of questions, kid," she muttered, retrieving Saffy from the floor, along with two books, and her magna-doodle. She handed it all to Wyatt. "Are you hungry?"

"Me eat."

"We'll have lunch with Grandpa." Shutting the door, she withdrew her phone and sent Keith a text: _On our way. Order a pizza? Thanks_. She climbed behind the wheel and tossed her bag on the seat. "Do you want to listen to music?"

"Yessss."

The only CD Logan had was a hundred sing-along kid songs. Instantly regretting her offer, Veronica reluctantly put it on, and made a mental note to buy earplugs for future drives. It was the last thought she was able to have, thanks to the sheer volume of sound in the car; Wyatt first asking her to _'make big'_ and then proceeding to do her best to out-sing the kids on the CD.

 _Skinny marinky doo, I love you_. "P'ay 'gain, Mama."

Admitting defeat, Veronica did so; this time singing along with Wyatt. _Skinny, marinky, dinky, dink._ On the third listening, she changed the words: _I love blue... goo... clue_ , making Wyatt giggle. _All_ the songs then needed to be played more than once. After their fourth rousing rendition of _Mulberry Bush_ , Veronica flipped off the radio —literally and figuratively— and pulled into her space at Mars Investigations. The silence was blissful and short-lived.

"M'out, Mama, pita."

Circling the car, she opened Wyatt's door, and leaned over her. "You're lucky you're so cute." Veronica showered her tiny face with kisses while she undid the straps. "Because you talk as much as your daddy - maybe more." Wyatt squeezed her cheeks, gave her a loud lip-smacking kiss, and smiled. Lifting her from the seat, Veronica stole a quick snuggle. "I love you."

"Love too."

Putting her down before she started to fuss, Veronica let her climb the stairs on her own. She held the handrail, alternated her feet, and made it to the top without incident. _Too fast_. Veronica hated that both Logan and her dad were right. Every new milestone was a beginning for Wyatt and an ending for Veronica. _I can feed myself_ \- no more bottles. _I can go potty_ \- no more diaper changes. _I can walk up the stairs alone_ \- no more hand-holding.

 _Sappy, much?_ She shook off the thoughts and jogged up the stairs.

The glass door to the office was propped open and Wyatt went racing inside. "Gwanpa!"

Keith was standing at the front desk, pizza box in hand. He put it down to pick up Wyatt. "Hey, who is this little one? She sounds like my granddaughter, but she looks like she belongs at Scotland Yard." Holding her up, he chuckled at Wyatt's outfit and correctly guessed the name of her costume designer. "So where _is_ Logan today?"

"Home with Bailey."

Wyatt nodded, adding, "Wabbit sick."

Keith frowned, looking to Veronica for confirmation. "She's got a cold - runny nose, slight fever, and some coughing." She held up a hand to stop the next question. "Logan already called the pediatrician this morning." Picking up the pizza, she inclined her head at the empty receptionist chair. "Where's Paige?"

"She's in Mac's office, working on your secret, hush-hush case."

"It's not a secret; I told you all about it." She started for his door, then detoured to the kitchen for paper plates, napkins, and a knife. "Bring the sweet pea, she's famished."

There was a sofa and coffee table in Keith's office. Veronica put the pizza on his desk, chose a slice, and cut it into smaller triangles. It took a while for Keith to join her; Wyatt having resumed her questions. "What dat?"

"A photocopier." One she'd seen at least a hundred times before, yet Keith answered her with an amused and patient tone. He was just as good with the endless questions as Logan. _Maybe it was a dad-thing?_ She smirked. _Or maybe I am the least patient person on the planet and a horrible mother_.

"Dat?"

"A fax machine." He shut the office door, put Wyatt down, and took off her trench coat. "Who's ready for pizza?"

"Me!" She clapped, rushing to her plate and kneeling in front of the coffee table. Poking the slice, she looked at Veronica. "Hot?"

"Give it a few minutes." Fishing through her bag, Veronica took out a Back to Nature apple juice pouch, a tupperware container of cut grapes, and a ziploc with carrot sticks. She knelt next to Wyatt and tipped an imaginary hat. "An appetizer, m'lady?"

Wy tried to mimic her, pulling the brim of the deerstalker over her eyes. Veronica plucked the hat off, smoothed down her hair, and kissed her forehead. "I'm going to put your hat over here so it doesn't get dirty, okay?"

The statement garnered her a one-eyed, suspicious squint from Wy. To distract, Veronica picked up a carrot stick, held it up to her mouth, and did her best Bugs Bunny. "Eh, what's up doc?"

Tossing back her head, Wyatt laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever — _she really was the best audience_ — and then picked up her own carrot. "What doc?"

Keith laughed at both of them. "It's like watching you when you were little."

Veronica tilted her head. "Charming and entertaining?"

"And suspicious, independent, inquisitive—"

"Yeah, okay, I get the picture." She dumped the carrots on Wyatt's plate. "Speaking of watching, what time are you and Dottie moving in?"

"Logan may have mentioned something about stuffed steak and little roasted potatoes so…" He patted his belly with both hands. "I'm thinking right around dinner."

"Of course you are." Standing, she put two slices of pizza on a plate and handed it to Keith. "Will you keep an eye on her while I take this" —she held the box aloft— "to Mac and Paige? I want to check on their progress."

"Hmm." Keith stared at her, angling his head to study her face. "Are you really not going to tell me anything more about this mysterious case, other than you're working for an old friend of Logan's?"

"Someone stole cash from her business partner and she hired me to prove it wasn't her."

"And for that you need a forensic accountant?"

Veronica nodded. "To follow the money, just like you taught me, Pops." She kissed his cheek. "I'll be right back."

Hightailing it out of his office, she got more plates, then went to join Mac and Paige. They were huddled over Mac's desk, staring at the computer screen. A giant whiteboard next to them containing a larger version of the spreadsheet Mac had emailed to her days ago. There were some new names Veronica didn't recognize. "I've brought sustenance."

With a wry grin, Mac said, "I must've missed the knock."

"Must have." Veronica put the pizza down on the only clean corner of the desk. "How goes our search for Sam?"

"Impossible," Mac said, at the same time Paige responded, "Awesome."

Mac rolled her eyes. "I think we might have to start looking for a new receptionist - she's actually enjoying _this_."

"I am." Paige helped herself to a slice of pizza and sat in the chair facing the whiteboard. "I've even checked out some schools that offer Master's Degrees in forensic accounting."

 _Damn_. Veronica knew working at Mars Investigations was only a temporary stint for Paige, while she decided where she wanted to go with her education. She held two degrees —one in English and the other in economics— but she didn't know what to do with either of them. Nothing said, _I want to do this for the rest of my life_ , to her, and so she'd taken a break. And it looked like that break was coming to an end. Veronica would be sorry to see her go.

"We'll miss you around here."

"I'm not leaving." Paige looked stricken. "I've been searching for _online_ degree programs so I can keep working."

The grin Mac flashed Veronica was of the _'gotcha'_ variety. Leaning over the desk to get a slice of pizza, she said, "I just meant Paige can't be both our receptionist _and_ our financial crimes investigator." Bringing the slice to her mouth, she paused to add, "She might even need her own office."

"Sure… how 'bout this one? I hear its current occupant may be on their way out for always mouthing off to the boss."

Unconcerned, Mac waved away the words. "Then who would get all those detailed background checks you're always asking for? Like this stack right here." She patted a pile of papers in the center of her desk. "Unless you don't want them?"

"Ha, ha, ha." Veronica stole the pages from under Mac's hand and flipped through them. They were sectioned by person and secured with binder clips. Credit card statements and phone records for the dancers; a full background check on Michael "Mickey" Barnes; basic information on Dominick Carlucci; and a thick batch for Pam. Veronica went back to the top of the stack, fanning the phone records with her thumb.

Karen had disconnected her cell phone, but she was making calls from her mother's apartment - one of them to the thief and her potential killer. Was she using a burner or her mother's landline? If it was the latter, she could ask Mac to get copies of those records, and find the outgoing number, but she was reluctant. Obtaining phone records was illegal without a warrant, and the police had probably executed one already. Veronica didn't need them, or the provider, finding a trace of Mac anywhere near that account.

"So tell me about your whiteboard" —she sat back in her chair— "And does this mean I don't need to go see the accountant?"

"Sharon was here this morning." Paige stood. "I wanted some tips and, uh, I asked a few questions about the coursework and the job." She crossed to the board. "We gave her copies of all the stuff we've found, though, so you don't have to worry about us — _me_ — missing anything."

"I'm not worried."

"Okay." Nodding, she picked up a dry-erase marker. "The entire point of setting up shell companies is so they remain anonymous. There's very little information about the beneficial owners of them, almost a non-existent paper trail." She underlined the five companies Veronica already knew about. "Mac was able to find these because of the incorporation papers for Shenanigans, and she followed the chain of ownership."

Little arrows on the board linked the companies: Exotic Ventures owned by EM, Inc, which was owned by SCE Holdings, and then up to Prism Capital and ending with Carl Enterprises.

"While _we_ know Sam owns all of these, there is still nothing on paper to prove it." Paige turned around, eyes bright and animated. "Sharon says these companies are used for everything from hiding assets in a divorce, to avoiding taxes, money laundering, even funding terrorism."

Mac was only half-right. Paige _was_ enjoying this, but there was more to it. Veronica recognized the signs. She was _intrigued_. This was an elaborate puzzle to solve, and Paige had caught the scent of her wrongdoing prey - she was on the hunt.

"This one" —Paige tapped the marker on the name Rare Imports— "Mac found by looking at the deed for the club, like you suggested. Sharon says this is where it gets harder to hide- when you purchase tangible assets, especially real estate, because it involves so much paperwork."

"And Rare Imports has Sam's name in its incorporation records?"

Paige shook her head. "Unfortunately, no, but…" She flipped the board over. "Companies can list nominee shareholders or board members with no relation to the owner. Sharon says they can use a lawyer, or relative, or they hire people that allow them to use their names on the forms. It's possible that, aside from a select few, no one knows the true owner of any shell company."

Veronica was listening, but she was also staring at the board. It was a family tree - _Sam's_ family tree. His parents Josephine Moretti and Nico Carlucci were at the top with the identifiers 'mom' and 'dad' beneath their names. Then there were Sam's brothers and sisters with respective spouses and all their children.

Exchanging the black marker for a red one, Paige circled Josephine Moretti. "Rare Imports is owned by Sam's mother and one of his sister-in-laws." She circled the name Luisa Bauer - Dominick Carlucci's mother. "Mac and I think Sam is using members of his family —the ones with different last names— to be the nominee shareholders for his shell companies."

It was… _interesting_ , but it still didn't _mean_ anything. There was no link to Sam, no proof that he was using these companies for illegal purposes, and nothing here that would get Pam out from under his thumb. "This all looks great so far, thank you."

Paige smiled. "We're going to move on to the banking records next to—"

"No," Veronica said, cutting her off. "We need to keep everything we find on Sam completely legal and aboveboard, using only our legitimate resources and search engines —no hacking, no subterfuge, no pretexting— and bank records will require a court order or a search warrant."

Their disappointment was obvious, but Veronica was worried about the 'fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine.' If they obtained one piece of evidence using illegal means, the court could throw out everything they found on Sam. "Just keep working on putting the chain together using public records. See what real property and businesses these companies own and I'll work on the legal end, okay?"

Mac frowned at her. "You do realize you just increased the difficulty to like, _Doom, Ultra Nightmare_ level, right?"

"Yeah, I have no idea what that means." She tilted her head. "Are you even speaking English?" Mac rolled her eyes and Veronica stood. At the door, she paused and turned back. "Oh, and I have complete faith in your ability to avoid permadeath and defeat the spider mastermind."

Mac's mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise and Veronica grinned. "That's right, who's got two thumbs and is married to Logan Echolls?" Popping up her thumbs, she pointed to her chest. "This girl right here- no longer can you stump me with your arcane video game references, Cindy Mackenzie."


	24. Changes

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"You're a great husband." Veronica bent over the top of the chair, wound an arm around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek to his. He was sitting in the comfort rocker with Bailey asleep on his lap. Their bedroom was warm and steamy from the nearby vaporizer, and he had a nasal aspirator, saline drops, bottle, and extra pacifiers at the ready. Closing her eyes, she slid her hand into the neck of his shirt and stroked her fingers over his collarbone. "I love you."

"I love you too." Turning his head, he kissed her cheek. "But what's with the compliments- are you trying to get out of making me dinner?"

"No' —she pulled her head back— "and thanks for implying that's the only time I'm nice to you...when I want to avoid my share of the chores."

"Oh, it's definitely not the _only_ time." With an eyebrow bob, he leaned forward to kiss her. "I find it extremely nice when you do that thing with your tongue and then add—"

"Tonight after work." His eyes widened, and she smiled. "I'm feeling extra wifely."

"You shouldn't toy with me."

"I'm not now, but I will be… later." Her hand moved lower, grazing his chest, and he groaned. "Now you're getting the idea," she whispered into his ear. "You and me and a locked bedroom door."

His eyes moved to the very same bedroom door and he frowned. "Where's Wyatt?"

"I dropped her off at the mall with some friends so she could get a new dress for her big date," she deadpanned, withdrawing her hand from his shirt and stepping back. She toed off her ankle boots. "She's napping. She passed out in the car, like _out, out_ —mouth open, drool, snoring— the whole nine. Didn't even open her eyes when I put her in bed, then took off her shoes and coat."

"So all the ladies in the house are behaving strangely- should I be worried?"

"Nah, we just like to keep you on your toes." Veronica stretched. "Why don't you put Bay down and come keep me company? I'll fill you in on the day's events."

Logan shook his head. "She cries whenever I lay her down."

"It's the incline." Veronica left the room, getting the safety wedge from the nursery closet, and returning to put it under the bassinet mattress. "That should do the trick."

With a skeptical expression, his gaze moved from the baby to the co-sleeper. Veronica smiled at his reluctance, positive he was actually enjoying playing bed for Bailey, and wasn't ready to give up his alone time with their daughter. She kissed him. "I'll go start without you."

The baby snurgled —a cross between a tiny snuffle and gurgling noise— and Veronica lightly touched her forehead. Still warm. "Has she been eating?" An affirmative nod from Logan. "Any tugging on her ears? Wheezing?"

"No." An indulgent, tender smile curled the corners of mouth and Veronica kissed him again, silencing any comments about 'mommy mode' and how cute he found it. He was wise to her game though, his smile turning into a smirk. "Don't expect that to work every time."

"It hasn't failed me yet." Puckering her lips, she pointed to her mouth. "These right here are magic."

"Well, I can't argue with that, especially when they're—"

"Yeah, okay, going to cook dinner now."

Dinner and a call to Leo, but first she needed to get the guest room ready. Then maybe she'd still have time to take a peek at the blueprints and the rest of the background checks.

Leaving the bedroom, she stopped at the linen closet and got a fresh set of sheets. She was glad she'd let Logan talk her into springing for an extra-comfy sleeper sofa —one with an exorbitant (to her) price tag. But even with the thick mattress and bar shield, her dad would need more support. Veronica detoured to the laundry room and retrieved the memory-foam topper. A cranky Keith with back pain would _not_ be pleasant company.

She opened and made the bed, added extra pillows, and emptied the chifforobe. Grabbing one of the storage boxes from the actual closet, she divested the room of any and all traces of her current investigation. Her father was _nosy_ and she didn't need—

 _Crap, the stripper pole_.

Veronica carried the box into the living room just as Logan walked in from the hall. "Perfect timing. Can you take down the stripper pole and put it, along with this" —she pushed the box against his stomach— "in the trunk of Amber's car?"

"No more pole?" Logan took hold of the box. "But I was just starting to get attached to it… oh well, it was swell while it lasted."

"Fun, definitely, but it won't exactly be 'no harm done' if my dad catches sight of it and starts asking questions."

"Point taken." He started for the garage and stopped. "Hey Veronica? Thanks for the memory."

She rolled her eyes for his benefit but smiled on her way to the kitchen. Taking the self-rising flour and oil from the pantry, she put them on the island, and got the rest of the ingredients from the fridge.

Wyatt would only eat the stuffed steak after they took her piece apart and ditched the spinach. And she wasn't a fan of potatoes unless they were mashed or in the shape of a French fry. Feeding a toddler should be a _class_ taught in some kind of parenting university. It could be on the schedule alongside 'dealing with the endless no's' and 'how much do you hate the word _why_.'

Walking into the kitchen, Logan frowned at the stuff on the counter —not steak and potatoes— and asked, "What are you making?"

Veronica finished cracking an egg. "Corn fritters for Wy."

Interest piqued, he moved things around, locating the goat cheese and sour cream container. Holding up his finds, he wiggled them in her line of sight. "With that roasted garlic dip?"

"Yes, and they're for _Wyatt_."

"But surely you can make a few extra for your… how did you put it? _Great husband,_ I believe was the phrase, right?"

"Maybe… and don't call me Shirley." He smirked at the tired joke like he expected better from her and she stuck her tongue out at him. "You know, you're acting like I never cook for you, when in fact I made you breakfast _this_ morning and yesterday, too."

"It's the little things that mean a lot." Bending his head, he kissed her cheek and then sang in her ear, "We got a thing that won't stop cooking, you turn me on just by looking."

Veronica hip-checked him out of her way. "And you accuse me of dated references? First Bob Hope and now Sonny and Cher? Pitiful."

"But which is sadder, that I quoted them or that _you_ know them?" He popped a piece of goat cheese in his mouth, staring at her with one arched eyebrow.

"Touché." Veronica cut the kernels from the corncob.

Logan crossed the room, took down a mug, and brewed himself a cup of dark-roast, Sumatran Reserve coffee. "How did Wyatt do on her first day as detective? Did she uncover any clues?"

"No, but she did discover that her new markers don't color on floors or walls or furniture; she was not pleased."

Smiling, he pulled out one of the stools and sat with his elbows on the island, cup cradled between his hands. He took a slow sip. "And did you find anything?"

Veronica paused in her fritter making to take the steak from the fridge. She put it on the counter in front of him and then got the teak cutting board and meat-tenderizing mallet. "Help a girl out and flatten that steak."

Turning her back to him, she peeled away the loose layers of skin on the garlic head and cut the top off, drizzled it with olive oil, wrapped it in foil, and put it in the oven to roast. When Logan was done pounding the steak, she filled him in on her trip to the building department. "The zoning change, which allowed the club to operate in that neighborhood, was pushed through the Board of Supervisors by Jake Kane and Bill Gant."

He put down his mug with a _thunk_. "When did that happen?"

Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she went to the front hall to get her bag, and withdrew the envelope from Jerry. She returned to the kitchen and dumped its contents. There were three sets of drawings; Veronica unfolded all of them, spreading them out on the table. One was designated 'preliminary' and the other 'issued for permit.' The last set had no title, but from its labels —kitchen, dining room, study— she assumed they were the originals from when it was still a house.

"Based on these, I'd say the zoning change was approved four, five years ago." She shrugged. "They get their building permit, start construction, and the club opens a year later?"

"Right around the time Joey was trolling for talent in diners."

She nodded, returning to the island and dinner. Logan was being sarcastic, but there was a grain of truth in his statement. Most of the girls at the club were from places outside of Balboa County and they were all, as Dick said, _hot_. Maybe Joey _was_ trolling for talent, visiting various strip clubs to lure away their best dancers. Being an employee who actually got paid to dance, instead of the other way around, might be enough incentive to move. It had been for Pam.

"Does it bother you?" Her question could mean anything; she elaborated. "That Pam was so close, but didn't call?"

Logan started to shake his head, stopped, picked up his coffee; tilted it toward his mouth, stopped, and put the mug back down. "No, it doesn't, not really- I assumed she'd be in touch eventually." He shrugged. "That's how our relationship worked… works."

Veronica didn't miss the correction to _works_ , as in present tense. Moving to the sink, she washed the baby spinach and took out the butcher's twine. "But something's bothering you?"

Creases appeared in his forehead as he frowned. "Carrie asking her to stay away? This mess she's involved in? Her return to stripping? Take your pick."

Choosing none, Veronica chopped onions, sliced mushrooms, and crushed garlic. It was not avoidance. She just wanted to get everything prepped and ready to cook before the girls woke up from their naps. Returning to the original topic of conversation, she said, "I haven't seen any familiar faces at the club -no 09er spawn." She smirked. "Well, except for you."

He fake-laughed, carrying his coffee to the table to read over the blueprints. "I haven't either."

Adding some oil to a frying pan, she caramelized the onions and then tossed in the mushrooms and garlic. "Which is odd, right? Why would the Kanes and Gants of the world push for an exclusive gentlemen's club and then not use it?"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing you have a theory." Reaching over, he unplugged his cell phone from where it was charging on the hutch. He slid his thumb across the screen to wake it and started tapping.

"Blackmail?" She seasoned the steak. "Maybe Sam had something on them? Coerced their cooperation?"

"Blackmailed them with what, though? The club wasn't open yet, so it couldn't have been their activities at…" Logan looked up from his phone. "Unless the private parties were happening _before_ Shenanigans started? Maybe in a different location?"

"Possible," she conceded.

Picking up the ball of butcher's twine, she bounced it in her palm. This entire case was like a tangled spool of string - _multiple_ strings. Tyler's paternity, Pam's move to California, Sam's illicit activities, the theft, and now Karen's murder. Add in the involvement of Jake Kane and Bill Gant and Veronica didn't know what she had. Was it all connected? If she unraveled the yarn, would she find that it was just one long strand, or a bunch of things twisted together to confuse the shit out of her?

"What's so interesting on your phone?"

"No need to snap at me because you're frustrated; you'll figure it out - you always do," he said, without sparing her a glance; his attention still riveted to the screen. Veronica huffed and he grinned at the sound, taking it as proof he was right about her frustration. "If you must know —which of course you must, because you're Veronica— I'm using my phone to decipher the symbols on the blueprints."

"Oh." She spooned the mushroom-onion mixture onto the meat; added layers of provolone and baby spinach; and, rolled the steak, tying it with the twine. Wrapping it in plastic, she set it aside, and glanced at Logan. He'd put one drawing on top of another and was flipping back and forth between the two. "Find something?"

"Joey and Sam's shared office was definitely the kitchen and the wall behind that painting?" He waited for her to stop cutting potatoes and give him her full attention. "It used to have a dumbwaiter to send food up to the master suite."

Veronica dropped the knife. "Show me."

Logan pointed out the dumbwaiter on the original plans, then laid the renovation blueprint on top. The kitchen, pantry, and butler's pantry all disappeared into two offices. Veronica lifted the newer drawing to see the kitchen again. The dumbwaiter was in the wall shared by both Joey and Pam's office. According to the plans, the depth inside the drywall between the two rooms was eighteen inches, and the dumbwaiter itself had two doors - you could send food upstairs from either the kitchen or pantry. She let the new drawing fall, and that eighteen-inch space was gone.

Disappointed, Veronica tapped the thinner wall. "It looks like they ripped it out to create more room in Joey's office."

"These aren't the final plans though; they could've changed their minds and kept it."

She offered his suggestion a non-committal _mmm_ , and slid the blueprint for the second floor closer. The kitchen _was_ beneath the room Joey had named _Cliquot-_ the former master suite where the party took place. An existing dumbwaiter was a nice theory.

Logan checked the time and started to refold the drawings. "Do you want me to put these in the box in the trunk?"

"Yes, and I want you to rent us a room at the Holiday Inn for the week."

He smirked. "You _are_ feeling wifely."

"Not for that… well, for that, but I also need a place to work. With my dad both here and at the office, I've got nowhere to spread out the case files.."

"That's so sad." He kissed her nose. "See, if you'd let me build the second-story addition, you could have an office again. One not shared with guests. I'd even install a substantial lock on the door."

"You don't care about my office space; you just want more bedrooms for more babies."

"That hurts, Veronica." He clutched a hand to his chest as if she'd wounded him. "I care about everything that's important to you."

Rolling her eyes, she went back to her potatoes while he brought the blueprints out to the car.

If they'd decided to keep the dumbwaiter, could the thief have used it to smuggle the cash and coke out of the party? Veronica supposed it was possible. A powered dumbwaiter wasn't exactly silent, but the music could have concealed the noise. A manual one wouldn't work - you'd _definitely_ notice someone pulling a hand rope to lower the car.

Of course they could have just hidden the stolen goods inside the car without lowering it and then returned to retrieve them later. But, in order to use it, the thief would have to know the dumbwaiter existed, which led her back to Sam, Joey… or Pam.

And if there was a dumbwaiter, how did they access it? Logan had checked behind the painting in Joey's office to look for a safe and found nothing. In Pam's office that common wall was covered by a filing cabinet. The door _could_ be behind the cabinet, but it wouldn't be easy to reach. An empty filing cabinet had to weigh close to one-hundred-and fifty-pounds; she couldn't even imagine how heavy a _full_ cabinet would be -seven-hundred, eight-hundred pounds?

The dipping sauce was in the refrigerator, the steak and potatoes were ready for the oven, and the fritters were just waiting to be fried. Veronica finished loading the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and washed her hands.

If the snuffling noises coming from the baby monitor were any indication, Bailey would be up soon, and Veronica wanted to nurse. A little snuggle time with Bay would make them both feel better.

Logan came in carrying the diaper bag she'd left in the van and set it on the counter near the sink. The deerstalker cap was peeking out from his back pocket. "I found this" —he pulled out the hat with a flourish— "shoved in the rear center console, hidden beneath one of Bailey's plastic storybooks. Were you trying to make it disappear?"

"Under the advice of counsel, I invoke my Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination, and decline to answer your question."

" _Oooh_ , lawyer speak, you know how that turns me on." Tossing the hat next to the diaper bag, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her to him.

Veronica trailed her fingertips up his forearms. "Does it remind you of your bad boy days?"

"That makes it sound like they're in the past." He kissed the side of her neck. "I'm going to show you later exactly how much of a bad boy I still am."

" _Oooh_ , now _I'm_ turned on."

His deep, sexy chuckle tickled her neck, sending fever chills across her skin. With every intent of pushing him away, she flattened her palm on his chest, but her hand wouldn't comply. It slid its way across his shoulder and into his hair as he kissed her. Logan caressed her cheek with his knuckles and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

A congested grunt from the baby monitor was followed by a string of _ah, ah, ah's_ , each progressively louder. Smiling, he inclined his head toward the noise. "It sounds like someone wants mommy."

"I'm like milk on tap." His smile widened and Veronica shook her head, stepping out of his embrace. Slicing the air with her hand, she commanded, "Silence!" With raised brows, he stared at her and she shrugged. "What? You said kissing you quiet wasn't always going to work, so I'm trying something new."

"Good to know you're feeling experimental; I'll keep that in mind for tonight at the motel."

She responded with the throaty, purr-growl she knew he loved. The one that turned him on and drove him a little crazy. His eyes went molten and the temperature around them climbed a few degrees. Veronica fanned herself, blowing him a kiss, and sauntering from the kitchen.

When she pushed open the bedroom door, Bailey let her know she unhappy with the delay in her milk delivery, waving her fists and grunting. "Sorry Rabbit, I was busy flirting with Daddy; you're not the only one with needs."

Veronica undressed Bay and then pulled off her own shirt and bra. Lifting the baby from the bassinet, Veronica cradled her close. She immediately stopped fussing and, with a contented sigh, turned her head to latch. Skin-to-skin contact was Bailey's favorite way to eat. Cupping her hand around the baby's skull, Veronica stroked a thumb over her cheek.

"How 'bout a change of scenery tonight, Rabbit?" Veronica settled them into the comfort rocker. "I'm thinking you'll stay in the guest room with Grandpa. His snoring can be white noise for you."

Sucking furiously, Bailey's tiny fist kneaded faster as she leveled Veronica with a disapproving, one-eyed stare. "That's the same look your daddy gets when he doesn't like my ideas. He'll probably wear it later when I tell him my plans for tomorrow."

Veronica spending an entire morning in Leo's company would nettle, but it was the proposed afternoon of sneaking around Shenanigans that would earn her the _not-gonna-happen_ stare from Logan. But she didn't have a choice. It was past time she saw the party room, and she needed to explore his dumbwaiter theory.

While most homes in Southern California didn't have a basement, they sometimes had tiny rooms tucked below-grade to house the water heater and electrical panels. And, in the case of Shenanigans, possibly the mechanics for a dumbwaiter, including access to it. Even if the elevator wasn't functional, as long as its shaft existed, the thief could've tossed the stolen goods inside, then collected them later from where they landed at the bottom.

Bailey sneezed, startling herself from her dozing. She gave a plaintive cry and tiny little coughs rattled her chest. Veronica put the baby on her shoulder to rub her back. "Poor bunny." Closing her eyes, she rocked and patted and sang until Bailey quieted.

Veronica changed her diaper, applied a little Zarbee's Natural Chest Rub, and dressed her in white cotton footed-pajamas printed with vintage pink roses. Carrying her from the room, she found Logan in front of the stove frying up Wyatt's corn fritters. "Really? You couldn't wait for dinner?"

"Not me. The little one who eats like her mother got up from her nap demanding food."

"Where is she?" Veronica asked, transferring Bailey to her swing.

"Making a party hat for Cuddles. She's decided it's his birthday, but I think it's just a ploy for cake."

"Hope you told her it would be made out of carrots."

Logan smiled. "I figured I'd leave that up to you." He scooped the fritters from the pan, putting them on a bed of paper towels. "Cake is your area of expertise, not mine."

"Daddy do!" Wyatt raced into the room with Cuddles in one hand and a cone of construction paper in the other. The blue hat was covered in scribbles, stickers, and glitter… and so was Wyatt. Just thinking about what that meant for the condition of the dining room made Veronica wince.

Seeing Veronica, Wyatt stopped short, thrusting the rabbit at her. "Birday hat."

"You want me to put on his birthday hat?"

She nodded. "Falled off."

"Okay, you sit and eat your corn fritters and I'll fix it for you." Veronica put Cuddles down and helped Wyatt into her booster seat. "I'll be back." Taking the hat with her, she got a rubber band from her office, cut it, and stapled each end inside the hat.

On her return to the kitchen, she detoured through the dining room. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Clearly, Logan had helped Wyatt with the glue and glitter, because both bottles were safely tucked out of reach on top of the china cabinet. The rest was just paper and crayons and empty sticker release liners. Veronica gathered up the garbage.

"Here you go, one birthday hat for your rabbit." She set it on the table.

Wyatt's gaze swung from the hat to Cuddles and then to Bailey, head tilting in contemplation. She chewed her fingertip and looked at Logan. "More hat."

"Sure, after you eat, we'll make hats for everyone." He put a plate of cooled, cut-up fritters on the table along with a bowl of dipping sauce, and took a seat next to her, picking up his coffee.

Veronica started to toss the paper scraps in the trash and frowned. "Wyatt?" She fished a blue Crayola from the top of the can. "Why are your _new_ markers in the garbage?"

Wyatt extended her hand, palm up, like the answer was obvious. "B'oken, Mama."

Logan snorted into his mug. Veronica gave him the 'it's not funny, don't encourage her' look and he tried to disguise his laughter, holding his fist to his mouth and pretending to cough, but it wasn't working. His amusement translated itself to Wyatt, who picked up a piece of fritter with a wide grin on her face.

Veronica sighed. "Are they all in here?"

The question elicited another chuckle/fake cough from Logan. Starting to smile, Veronica turned around before she cracked, digging through the trash to retrieve the rest of the wonder markers. Crayola certainly didn't put _this_ in their marketing - won't color except on special paper, but be warned your toddlers will think they're broken.

 _Or maybe that's just MY toddler_.

She rinsed them off, sticking them in the silverware slot of the dish drain, and washed her hands.

Wyatt was eating and happy, chattering at Logan about what color hats she wanted to make for Cuddles' after-dinner birthday party. Bailey, with her stuffy breathing, was fed and dozing in her swing. The house was relatively clean. Dinner was all set to go in the oven. The guest room was ready for Keith and Dottie. And Veronica was at loose ends.

It _seemed_ like she'd been gifted some free time to do something for herself, but she knew, from experience, this was an illusion. If she moved from this spot to take a nap, or have a bath, the second she closed her eyes, or started the water running, Wyatt would suddenly need something only Veronica could do, or Bailey would start crying. Or—

The doorbell rang.

 _See, I didn't even have to move_.

"Gwanpa!" Wyatt shouted, tugging at the strap of her booster chair. Her arm knocked the table, toppling her milk, which spilled on Logan's lap. As he stood, his chair scraped against the floor, and all the noise woke Bailey, who immediately started to bawl.

Logan freed Wy from her seat and she rushed the door. Picking up Bailey, Veronica followed her, calling an admonishment to _wait_. The sound level in the house did not need the addition of the burglar alarm. She punched in the code, unlocked the door, and let Wyatt open it with her usual flair - twist, twist, twist, and fling wide enough for it to bounce against the wall.

"Gwanpa!" Wyatt scooted past Dottie, launching herself at Keith. Once she was in his arms, she looked down and asked, "Puppy?"

Keith chuckled. "So all this enthusiasm wasn't for me? You're just using me for my dog?" Wyatt patted his cheek in consolation before asking for Partner again. Keith put her down. "He's in the car."

 _Right, the dog_. Veronica kept the groan to herself. Four adults, one rambunctious toddler, a sick baby, and now a slobbering, barking dog. Forget _working_ at the Holiday Inn, she was going to pack a bag and move.

"Bad time?" Dottie asked, picking up the suitcase Keith had abandoned to chase Wyatt, who was racing to get to Partner. "We thought we'd come a little early so I could help you with dinner." She followed Veronica into the house. "But maybe that wasn't such a good idea?"

"It's fine." Veronica lunge-walked her way toward the guest room, trying to calm Bailey. "Dinner's prepped and ready, but I was just about to bake a cake for dessert." This was a lie, but if anyone now needed cake, it was her. _And, sorry Cuddles, it was not going to be a carrot confection._

Dottie set the suitcase on the bed as Keith, Wyatt, and Partner bounded into the room. The dog jumped on the mattress, rolling onto his back and delighting Wyatt. She scrambled up after him to pat his belly. "Me do easy."

Partner barked agreement, wagging his tail.

The bark triggered another round of crying from Bay and Veronica quickly backed from the room, bumping into Logan. "Here you go, Mister _I don't want a nanny_ ," she muttered under her breath, handing him the baby. "You deal with this, I have a cake to bake."

"From your face, I'd guess chocolate on chocolate with a side of chocolate?"

She smirked. "And you said you weren't a cake expert."

"I'm not" —he kissed her nose— "But I am a Veronica aficionado." Logan cradled Bailey in the crook of his arm, rocking her into silence. "And you better scram before you get waylaid. I'll sacrifice myself on the altar of your happiness and keep the boisterous mob from storming the kitchen."

"Are you trying to seduce me? Because it's working."

His eyebrows bobbed. "I know."

The noise from the guest room escalated as if it was moving closer and Veronica beat a hasty retreat, escaping to the kitchen and a box of super-moist Betty Crocker. There was no time to bake a cake from scratch —this was a dessert emergency— but she knew how to fake it. Adding milk instead of water, putting in an extra egg, and swapping the vegetable oil with softened butter, Veronica created a 'homemade' batter. For good measure, she dumped in the rest of the chocolate chips.

"I've come to beard the lion in its den," Keith said, walking into the room and heading straight for the coffee machine. "It was a little tricky getting past Logan, but he soon fell to my superior skill."

"And by that you mean you tripped him?"

Keith smiled. "No, I had Wyatt convince him they needed to take Partner for a walk." He carried his coffee to the island and sat on a bar stool. "My granddaughter is hard to refuse."

"Using a kid to do your dirty work?" Veronica stopped greasing the pans to look at him. "Are you following the Vinnie Van Lowe playbook now? Next you'll be wearing a Member's Only jacket and sporting a fake mustache."

He shook his head. "Come on, kiddo, no one's that desperate except for Vinnie himself." Running his finger along the wire loop of her whisk, he stole a taste of the cake batter. "But you know I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures if you weren't still avoiding me."

"How, exactly, is inviting you to live in my house _avoidance_?" While waiting for his answer, she finished filling the pans and put them in the oven.

Instead of acknowledging her question, Keith said, "At first I thought you weren't coming into the office because of your mother, but then—"

"My… what does Lianne have to do with this?"

Keith hesitated. His surprised expression rapidly gave way to worry. "I thought you… she's back in town."

Lianne in Neptune and he thought Veronica knew, which could only mean Lianne had plans to contact her.

"Now I'll _definitely_ make it a point to stay clear of the office." Veronica slammed the mixing bowl into the sink and threw the whisk in after it. She started to wipe down the counter and then dropped the sponge. "Wait, you've actually _seen_ her, talked to her?"

"She stopped by the house."

The house that was decorated with pictures from Veronica's life- graduation photos, her wedding, Wyatt, Bailey. Information Lianne wasn't entitled to have. "Well, I hope you sent her packing."

His sigh said he didn't. "Veronica, she's your mother, and she wants to see you."

Veronica wasn't buying it. There had to be a reason, some ulterior motive for Lianne to show up now. After thirteen years away, you didn't suddenly wake up and remember you had a daughter. She was probably in some kind of trouble. Or, maybe she'd heard Veronica was married to Logan and wanted money. "I'm not interested."

"Maybe you'll change your mind once your case wraps up and you have some time to think about it."

 _Doubtful_. She finished cleaning the counter. "When did you suspect that I might not be your daughter? Was it before or after I found Lianne meeting Jake Kane at the Camelot?"

Keith winced. The question may have come out harsher than intended, but she wasn't trying to remind him of Lianne's past sins —although there were plenty of them to list— Veronica just wanted to know.

"Before, when your mother left town the first time. She told me I was wrong about Jake- he couldn't have killed Lilly because he was with her." Sadness washed over his face. "That's when I knew their affair…"

Veronica nodded. She didn't need him to give her the details. His marriage was _his_ and he had a right to keep those secrets. "Why did you wait? Why not take a paternity test then?"

"Because it didn't matter. Being a father isn't just biology, honey - I raised you, and you were mine." Keith fell silent; his eyes studying her face in that deep, probing _something's bothering my kid_ way. Veronica turned her back to him and took the cooling racks from the cabinet, setting them up on the counter. "Is this about Tyler?"

Startled, Veronica whirled around to stare at him.

"With age comes wisdom." He tapped his temple. "You can't keep secrets from me, kiddo."

"Pretty sure I can. Wool - me pulling it over your eyes. Or have you forgotten my entire childhood? You know senility comes with old age, too."

"I never said _old_."

Veronica shrugged. "It was implied."

The jokes were only a momentary distraction. Keith was _tenacious_ when he wanted to know something. That paternity test had been a waste of money, there was no doubt she was his daughter. Of course, he was a little more direct in his methods, while she preferred the sneaky route, but neither of them knew how to let a subject drop.

"So what does Logan say about it? Is he concerned Tyler might be his?"

"No."

"And that's not enough for you?"

It was a leading question, in that it already contained the answer he expected to hear. Veronica sidestepped it, countering with, "Why are you asking about Tyler?"

"Two plus two still equals four. Logan's ex-girlfriend returns with a child at the same time you stop coming to work and start keeping me in the dark about your current case? Even Vinnie could connect those dots."

"And you just couldn't resist doing a little investigating could you?"

"Genetics, baby. Or did _you_ forget where your innate snoopiness comes from?"

"I'm not Snoopy." Veronica took out a frying pan. "I'm _clearly_ Linus, who was both witty and knowledgeable; Snoopy is way too much of an extrovert who, for some reason, likes people."

Keith smiled. "Are you sure you're not Lucy?" Her mouth popped open in mock-outrage and he laughed. "Disagreeable, bossy, mocking - any of that sound familiar, kiddo?"

"Okay, maybe," she conceded. "But I'd never pull the football away from Charlie Brown." Adding a little oil to the frying pan, she waited for it to heat, and seared both sides of the steak.

"So… Shenanigans?"

 _Curses._ Veronica disappeared into the pantry, ostensibly to get the ingredients for frosting, but in reality to bide her time. _Where the hell was Logan? Seriously, how long could he take to walk one dog?_ She got the cocoa, powdered sugar, and vanilla.

Keith had his next question ready for her return. "How much money was stolen?"

"Two hundred grand." These questions she could answer, but Veronica suspected Keith knew as much, and was trying to lull her into a false sense of security. It was a trick he'd taught her simply because of its effectiveness- get the person comfortable talking, and then go in for the kill. Two could play this game.

Veronica gave him the story, making it sound like she was providing lots of details, while actually saying very little. Pam and her partner were having a private party, entertaining new business associates, and during the meeting someone walked off with the cash.

 _What was the money for?_

To buy equipment for the club.

 _In cash?_

Shady, I know, but… no taxes.

"Veronica" —it was that patronizing 'Dad' tone— "I may have taught you the art of private investigation, but when it comes to raising a child? Much to learn, you still have, my young padawan. For instance, when parents ask questions, they usually already know the answers."

She arched her eyebrow, challenging his assertion. Grinning, Keith clapped his palms together and rubbed his hands, relishing the chance to prove her wrong. "Pam's 'partner' is a mobster named Sam Carlucci. Rumor has it, he took advantage of the void left behind by the Fitzpatricks and moved in on their drug territory, but I don't believe it."

Feigning only casual interest, she asked, "Why not?"

"The Fitzpatricks were crude and Carlucci strikes me as smarter than that, especially considering how much time Mac and Paige are spending trying to unravel his organization. Plus Nico Benedetti still has the market cornered."

Veronica nodded in agreement. The coke Sam was buying was definitely for use in the club. He was providing full-service entertainment for his high-end customers, not selling drugs on street corners.

"But I _do_ believe the 'new business associates' you mentioned were probably drug dealers? And the cash was to buy… Meth? Ecstasy? Cocaine?"

Before he could name every party drug he knew, Veronica relented, confirming it was coke and that it went missing along with the cash. Smiling in victory, Keith stood and put his empty mug in the sink. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, with a gentle squeeze, said, "See, now don't you feel better? Confession being good for the soul and all."

She rolled her eyes. Moving away from him, she went back to making her frosting. She alternated adding the milk, vanilla, and sugar to the warm butter and cocoa mixture. "So how 'bout them Padres?"

"You don't get off the hook that easy; we still need to talk—"

"Mama!" Wyatt came running into the kitchen, crying. When she saw Veronica, the volume of her crying increased and her steps slowed as she tried to hobble along on one foot.

"What happened?" Lifting her off the floor, Veronica hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head.

Wyatt laid her head on Veronica's shoulder, offering a teary and woeful, "Me felled."

Logan walked into the kitchen, carrying Partner's leash and handed it to Keith. "The dog knocked her over in their race up the front steps and apparently only Mommy could make it better." He smirked. "I think it's your liberal use of band-aids."

Sticking her tongue out at him, Veronica rubbed Wyatt's back. "Do you have a boo-boo?" Wy nodded, raising her leg and leaning over to look at her knee. Veronica sat her on the counter to inspect the damage. There was a tiny scrape. Leaning forward, she kissed it, and Wyatt pointed to the other one. With a smile, Veronica kissed that, too. "Well, these _definitely_ look like they need a Tinkerbell bandage."

The offer resulted in a big nod from Wyatt and laughter from Logan.

Veronica pointed at him. "You get out of my kitchen and take him" —she jabbed her finger in Keith's direction— "with you so Wyatt and I can eat frosting in peace." _And I won't have to sidestep whatever questions my father wanted to ask next_.


	25. God Is a Bullet

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Last night it had been easy to avoid the rest of the conversation with her dad. Dinner, birthday cake for Cuddles, bath, and pajama-time kept her busy, filling the hours until it was time to leave. This morning had been a little trickier, but still manageable; she'd just hidden in the bedroom with Bailey until Logan announced the 'all clear.'

When she emerged from their room with a fed, bathed, and changed Bailey, the house was empty except for Logan. "Where's Wyatt?"

"Dottie took her out for the morning so we could get some more sleep, provided this little one cooperates." He lifted Bay from her arms. The baby smiled at him, reaching for his face and shoving her fingers in his mouth. Logan clasped her little hand in his, kissing her palm and then her forehead. "She doesn't feel as hot as she did yesterday."

"We took a lukewarm bath together while she ate." _Coffee_. Veronica needed caffeine. While Logan had the luxury of going back to sleep, she did not. Crossing the room, she popped a k-cup in the Keurig, and asked, "Where's the dog?"

"Gone, your dad was going to bring him home before heading into the office."

Nodding, she got the half-and-half from the fridge and doctored her coffee with the desired cream and sugar. Veronica let out an involuntary _mmm_ with the first sip. "Bay looks almost ready for her morning nap." Cradled in the crook of Logan's elbow, the baby's eyelids were drooping, and her grip on his finger was starting to slacken. Veronica stroked the top of her head. "You should be able to get another hour or two of sleep."

"While you go where?"

"To visit Leo. I want to have a look at the crime scene photos and evidence log."

Leo had said the apartment was ransacked when the police arrived and Veronica wanted to see it for herself. Compare her memory to the pictures and log, then play _spot the differences_. She also wanted to know if the killers were the ones who found her listening device. It was a safe bet, since the cops hadn't come knocking on her door, but maybe the photos could give her a definite answer.

"Want to stop at Las Milpas and pick up lunch? Rolled tacos and tamales?"

"Uh…" She'd meant to tell him her plans for today, but in the few minutes they'd had alone last night, the only thing they'd talked about was Lianne being back in Neptune. It hadn't even been a real conversation, just a quick exchange:

Her: _'Lianne's back in town and my father thinks I should see her.'_

Logan: _'And what do you want?'_

Her: _'To not do that.'_

Logan: _'Then don't.'_

Veronica took another sip of coffee, delaying her answer. "I wasn't planning to come home for lunch."

The forced casualness of her tone put him on instant alert. One eyebrow popped up and the right half of his mouth curled into a suspicious smirk. Sometimes she hated the accuracy with which he could read her. He was supposed to be astute _about other people,_ while remaining completely beguiled by her. _Dagnabit_.

"I want to go search for the dumbwaiter."

His lips thinned into a hard line and he stopped rocking the baby. "Veronica, we agreed - no club without me."

"I know, but this—"

"Is not different," he finished, rephrasing her lame justification. "Just because it's daytime and the club is closed, does not make it better, in fact, it makes it worse. What if Joey catches you snooping?"

"I shoot him?"

A flash of a smile and then he shook his head. "I'll help you look for it tonight."

Trying to find the dumbwaiter while the club was open was nigh impossible. She knew because she'd tried last night. In between her time on stage and actively avoiding lap dances, she'd searched for a door that might lead to the boiler room. If it existed, it was either inside the security office or outside at the back of the house. The office was a no-go because _security guards,_ and with Bart watching the parking lot she couldn't be snooping in the yard.

"I need to do it during the day." She explained her reasons, but he refused to budge.

"Then we'll do it tomorrow- _together_ -while Dottie is with the girls. You can pretend you're there to rehearse and I'll be meeting with Pam about…" He paused in his rocking to shrug. "Some work thing."

"So we're going to traipse around the big scary mansion as a _group_? Are we bringing Shaggy and Scooby Doo with us, Fred?"

"If you want to, Daph, but you'll have to bring extra scooby snacks." On his way from the room, he paused to add. "And I'll take red beans and rice with my tamales."

 _Grr._ Sometimes he made her so mad with his logic. Draining her coffee, she put the mug in the sink, and got her bag. It wouldn't be so terrible to wait. She could go see Leo, have lunch with her husband, and then take a nap before the house erupted in chaos again. Besides, finding the dumbwaiter was about as likely as them running into a ghost.

Veronica set the alarm and locked the front door. Tossing her bag through the open convertible top onto the passenger seat, she scanned the street. Nothing looked out of place. Satisfied, she slid behind the wheel and backed from the driveway.

It was a straight shot on the 5 Freeway to SDPD headquarters. The six-story, blue-and-white glass building took up an entire city block. Veronica drove around its circumference in search of a metered parking spot. There were head-in, angled spaces with big signs limiting your time to two hours, which meant she had one hundred and twenty minutes to convince Leo to give her what she wanted. And she didn't have a pizza.

"No." Was the first thing Leo said when he saw her. Shaking his head, he added, "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"I don't want anything; I'm here to help you."

A grin, equal parts disbelief and amusement, spread across his face. "I can't wait to hear this one." He bussed her cheek hello, and walked her around the corner to his cubicle. "You know, the Wittner homicide isn't my case."

Veronica shrugged. "Maybe not, but I'm going to appeal to your strong sense of justice and assume you still want to see the killer caught." Taking a seat in the visitor's chair to the side of his desk, she dropped her bag between her feet. "I need to see the crime scene photos."

"Aren't you going to try to butter me up first?" Leo leaned on the short part of the L-shaped desk and crossed his legs at the ankles.

Standing, while she sat, meant he wanted to be in control of the conversation, but the perching made him seem indecisive, and the leg crossing signaled vulnerability. This was going to be a piece of cake. Sometimes she forgot how easily she could steamroll the men in her life. Well, except for Logan —she frowned— he was like a reinforced steel wall.

"Do I need to?" At her question, there was a slight dip in the set of his shoulders, as if he knew his surrender was inevitable. With a weary smile, he flopped into his chair. As a way to let him save face, Veronica pulled a file from her bag and put it on his desk. Now they could be two colleagues _sharing_ information, instead of her wheedling facts from him. "Some more names for you to pass up the chain of command."

The file contained the legally-obtained background checks on all the suspects in both the theft and Karen's murder. Information she was positive they had, but it made a nice good-faith gesture, _and_ it would nudge the SDPD to investigate Sam's shell companies.

Leo flipped open the file, started to review the notes, and said, "We took a hard look at Shenanigans- it seems legit on paper, but it smells."

Veronica nodded. "Eau de lowlife. A friend at the FBI says Carlucci's been suspected of crimes ranging from prostitution to drug trafficking, but he's never been arrested for any of it."

A deep frown lined his forehead. He turned the pages back, looking for something. "Sam Carlucci. He's the guy you suspect is the real owner of the club? The guy behind Exotic Ventures?"

"Yes, and I think it's a shell company. You might want to suggest taking a hard look at the _financials_."

"How does that tie into the murder?"

She shrugged. "Shell companies can be used for tons of criminal activities. Maybe Karen found proof that could finally get Carlucci arrested and he had her killed."

Veronica knew this wasn't the case. Her illegal eavesdropping confirmed Karen's death was directly linked to the theft of the cash and drugs, but Leo didn't need to know that. He could get warrants, which would allow her a look at Sam's banking records. She was also going to float this idea of shady shell companies past Agent Townsend. It didn't matter to her which agency charged Sam —the San Diego PD or the FBI— only that he was arrested and removed from the equation.

"I'll mention it to Kincaid when I return this." Leo slid a thick, black looseleaf binder from his bottom drawer and set it down in front of her. The murder book. Anything pertaining to Karen's homicide would be between its covers - witness statements, evidence log, photos, autopsy report.

"And it's not even my birthday." Pulling it onto her lap, she settled back in the chair to read. The autopsy report was unsurprising. Twenty-four-year-old female in perfect health, except for the two bullet wounds in her head. Veronica skimmed.

Scene description: living room of apartment rented by decedent's mother. Decedent slouched in armchair, which is situated with its back against the north wall. A Glock 17 pistol is on the floor near decedent's feet sitting atop a red shopping bag from Wicked Venus.

Identification: via California Drivers License photo.

Notification: SDPD contacted decedent's mother—

Veronica stopped reading, went back to the scene description, and then checked the evidence log to be sure. "The killer left the gun?"

In the movies this was a thing. As in, _leave the gun - take the cannoli_. But in real life it didn't make much sense. Guns had serial numbers. Serial numbers that could be traced. And, even if you found a way to burn off the numbers, making them impossible to read, you still needed to worry about other forensic measures - fingerprints, DNA.

"It was an unfinished receiver," Leo said, reaching over the top of the book and turning to a post-it marked page.

A ghost gun. Veronica stared at the picture of the Glock. A receiver was essentially the frame of a gun. The piece that housed all the other parts of the weapon like the firing mechanism and the barrel. It was also where the serial number was located. A ghost gun didn't have one and it was untraceable. "Did you call the ATF?"

"Kincaid did, but…" He didn't need to finish the thought. Tracking down these '80 percent' guns was impossible. There were no sales records.

"So it's not limited to assault rifles?" A few years back, a twenty-something-year-old had made himself a ghost AR-15 and gone on a shooting rampage in California, killing five people. It had been all over the news. She'd read about it in the New York Times, along with some op-ed piece about people using unfinished receivers to circumnavigate California's strict gun laws.

Leo shook his head. "There's even a company in Texas that sells a machine to make receivers in the comfort of your living room."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're shitting me."

"I wish."

The world = scary. Maybe it was time to stop teasing Logan. She was starting to come around to his protective way of thinking about the girls' safety. _Do they even make toddler and infant flak jackets?_ Bowing her head, Veronica grimaced. "Were there any usable prints? DNA?"

"No."

Sighing, she thumbed through the pages, bracing herself for the rest of the photos. The scene description, while detailed, was impersonal and didn't prepare her for the sight of a bloodied Karen, slumped in the chair, head bent at an awkward angle. Veronica closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she kept her gaze away from the body and focused on the room.

As expected, the apartment was a mess, but there was a clear difference between 'slovenly houseguest' and 'ransacked' and Leo was right- the scene had been searched. Karen's overflowing suitcase was now empty, lying open on its side, butted against the pony wall of the kitchen. All the cabinet doors were agape; their contents littered the tiny counter. Cushions and pillows were stripped off the upended couch and its under-lining was sliced open.

Veronica zeroed in on the overturned coffee table. It wasn't a close-up photo, but its bottom surface looked clear, confirming her theory - the killers had found the bug, not the cops. Did they find it before or after they shot Karen? It had to be before. No time to search the place after the gunshots. Did one of them hold the gun on her, keeping her in the chair, while the other tossed the apartment? If so, when did Karen start to panic? When did she realize things weren't going to end well for her?

And, assuming it was one or both of her killers who returned to the apartment, why did they go back? Did the one with the gun shoot her before they finished searching? Did finding the listening device make the shooter jumpy, forcing them to flee the scene?

She took a break from the book, raising her gaze to ask, "Did Millie, the next-door-neighbor, call you? She said she would." The crease above his nose deepened as his eyebrows knit together; head canting to the side. Veronica tapped the photo in its plastic page protector. "Someone broke the door seal on the crime scene - maybe to finish their search?"

"I'll send a patrol car to re-secure the apartment."

"Can you have them check on Millie? She's way too friendly with strangers." _Especially six-foot tall ones with charming smiles and warm brown eyes_.

"Sure."

"And while you're being so agreeable… how 'bout you make me some color copies of these photos and the evidence log?" Veronica clicked open the binder rings to remove the pages she wanted. "Oh and maybe the phone records, investigator's report, and—"

"I can't give you copies of the case file, Veronica." He took the loose pages from her hand and slid the binder off her lap, keeping it low to the ground and concealed behind his cubicle wall. "I can't even _show_ you the file."

 _Huh?_ His abrupt change in attitude was jarring. Veronica blinked.

Leo returned the pages, snapped the rings closed, and dropped the murder book back in his desk drawer. With a muffled _thud_ , a chunky, oversized envelope landed on the desk near her elbow; Leo jutted his chin toward the envelope. Her name was printed in neat block letters on its face. Smiling at his prescience, she slipped the package into her bag. "Understood. I don't want you to get in any trouble."

Leo stood, signaling the end of their meeting. "It was good to see you."

"Same." She followed his lead, getting up from her chair, and hooking her messenger bag over her shoulder.

A slender man with black hair and a ruddy complexion was standing up from his desk, watching them. The shield clipped to his belt identified him as a detective. His presence explained Leo's weird attempt at ass-covering - they had an audience. Leo leaned in to give her a one-armed hug goodbye. "Keep me posted on what you find," he whispered in her ear.

"I will." Veronica stepped away from him and the desk, nodding toward the detective who was moving in for a closer look. "Next time we'll get lunch."

"Sounds good."

The detective reached Leo's cubicle just as Veronica turned toward the exit. Their ensuing conversation followed her all the way to the elevator. Nosy detective, _'Who was that?'_ and Leo's response, _'Ex-girlfriend.'_ Nosy detective: _'Why'd you break up with her?'_ The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside without waiting to hear Leo's response.

She made it back to the car with ten minutes to spare on her meter. Settling behind the steering wheel, she pulled out the package from Leo. He'd copied the entire case file for her, sans the autopsy report, which was fine, Veronica wasn't going to learn anything new by reading about the cause and manner of death. Resealing the envelope, she tossed it on the passenger seat and drove into the barrio.

The line at Las Cuatro Milpas was already down the block. Veronica drove past the restaurant, parked on the street, and walked back. Bypassing the line, she let herself in the side door. A few years back she'd done a favor for the owners of the family-run business —locating a relative without involving the police— and it meant no more waiting in line for her. It had also allowed her to snag bottles of their infamous hot sauce to ship to Logan when he was at sea.

Two women were in the kitchen making tortillas. They both looked up as she entered; a smile spread across the face of the older one, Dora. "Hola, Veronica." She allowed herself to be pulled into an aggressive hug. "How are the babies?"

"Good - _hungry_ all the time."

Dora grinned. "Appetite like their mama."

"Have you been talking to Logan again?" Veronica leaned a hip against the metal prep counter. "You know, one of these days he's going to leave me for you and your hot sauce."

" _Bah_." She waved an arm, dismissively, but her cheeks flushed at the compliment. Without asking, she put in an order for Veronica's food, remembering to add the red beans and rice with chorizo and extra tortillas.

"How's Benny?" Veronica asked, meaning the errant relative. She wasn't sure how, or even if, he was related, but he was a sweet teenager who was hopefully managing to stay out of trouble.

"Going to school and still working at the garage," Dora answered, while filling a large mason jar with hot sauce.

As part of her full-service detective work, Veronica had convinced Weevil to give Benny an after-school job. Turned out Weevil really liked the kid and the feeling was mutual- Benny staying after the garage closed to hang around and help build cars. "That's good."

Lines were long, but the service was fast, and the food was ready without much wait. Veronica needed both arms to hold the bag, but that didn't stop Dora from giving her another hug. "I put extra hot sauce and cilantro in there for Logan."

 _Of course she did_. Veronica thanked her and left with a promise to check in on Benny later in the week.

The walk to the car was torture; the smell emanating from the bag made her stomach sit up and beg like a dog. It was too tempting to wait. Declaring it breakfast, she wolfed down a taco before starting the car, ate another one on the freeway, and a third as she pulled alongside the mom-van in the driveway.

Letting herself into the house, she waited for the onslaught of toddler noise and was surprised with quiet. Wyatt was lying on the living room floor next to Bailey, 'reading' to her. Both on their tummies, the baby with her fists curled under her chest, head up, and Wyatt with her legs swinging in the air as she read from the oversized story book. "Catpiller."

Veronica put the food on the hall tree to find her phone and take a photo. At the click, Dottie's head appeared above the back of the sofa. She smiled. "Logan's already taken a few hundred of the same picture. This is our third book - Wyatt's stories tend to go fast."

They went fast because her idea of reading was pointing to the pictures and identifying the items she knew. _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ was reduced to, "Appo, 'trawberry, cake, cheese." It sounded like Wy's approved eating list. Looking up from the pages, she turned her head, and grinned at Veronica. "Hi, Mama."

"Hey, sweet pea. Whatcha readin'?" She knelt on the blanket next to them and kissed Wyatt's forehead.

Wy glanced back at Bailey, said, "The end," and closed the book to show Veronica the cover. She still couldn't say the word hungry —tripping over the 'gr' sound— and it came out as _Hunee catpiller_.

"What about you, are you hungry? I've got tacos."

Her nose scrunched. Tacos were a hit-or-miss proposition - too many foods touching. But she did like the crunch of the shells, so sometimes she made an exception. Just not today. "No like."

Arguing with her was pointless. "Fancy finger foods?"

"Yes!" Wyatt clapped her hands together and then looked at Bailey. "No you wabbit." She patted the baby's back, consoling. Ducking her head, she whispered in her ear, "Love you." The baby gurgled at her.

"Logan's missing this overload of cuteness" —Veronica stood— "and his lunch is getting cold- where is he?"

"Shower. The baby threw up on him."

Bending at the waist, Veronica felt Bailey's forehead and neck. Still warm. But she wasn't cranky and the snuffling was quieter. "You two read another book while I make lunch, okay?"

With a nod, Wyatt reached for the dreaded _Moo, Baa, La, La, La_ , which was Veronica's cue to flee. If Wy didn't pick a new favorite story soon, Veronica might have to go all _Fahrenheit 451_ on the cute, illustrated animals. She was starting to hear, _three singing pigs say la, la, la,_ in her sleep. _Nightly_.

"Can I interest you in some tacos?"

"No, thanks." Dottie got off the sofa. "I have to go home and walk the" —her eyes darted to Wyatt— "D-O-G, and I promised Nick an afternoon of apartment hunting; his lease is up at the end of the month." She sighed. "He procrastinates with everything, even his own birth. The other two, right on time, Nick? Almost three weeks late."

A fond smile softened Dottie's words. Nick might be twenty-five, but he was still her baby. Veronica walked with her to the door, retrieved the food, and wished Dot good luck with the search. She locked the deadbolt behind her and set the alarm.

Wyatt was _moo_ -ing at Bailey, trying to mimic Logan by making her voice deep and prolonging the _ooo_ sound. The baby giggled, causing Veronica to stop short.

"Hey, you're home; I was—"

"Ssh," she hushed, clamping a hand over Logan's mouth and jerking her chin toward the girls. Another _moo_ from Wyatt and then another giggle from Bailey.

His eyes widened. Removing Veronica's hand, he asked, "Did she just laugh?" Veronica's nod had him patting the back pockets of his jeans. "Crap, I left my phone in the bathroom."

"Use mine." She pointed to the coffee table.

Logan scooped up the phone and aimed it at the girls, but Wyatt was done with the cow. "Sheep, _baa_." There was no reaction from the baby. Clearly, the sheep were not as amusing to Bay.

"Go back to the cows," Logan said, kneeling on the floor in front of them.

"No, Daddy." Wyatt turned the page and pointed. "Pig - _la, la, la_."

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated, and Veronica bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Carrying the bag to the kitchen, she set it on the island, and took food from the fridge to make Wyatt's lunch of fancy finger food. She put a sweet potato in the microwave and, while it cooked, cut pieces of chicken, cheddar cheese, and cantaloupe into small cubes. Then she did the same with the potato.

Logan and Bailey joined her as she arranged the cubes on a silver platter and skewered them with frilly toothpicks. "Any luck?"

"No. Wyatt refused to go back to the beginning of the book." He slid her phone onto the counter. "I would ask why she's so stubborn, but we both know where she gets it from."

They said "You" at the same time and then grinned at each other.

"Where is she?" Veronica asked, filling the Green Sprouts Learning Cup with chocolate milk.

"She's _supposed_ to be putting her books away, but…" Shrugging, he put Bay in her swing and tried _moo-ing_ at her. No laughter, but she smiled and stuck her fingers in his mouth. Logan nibbled on them, kissed her hands, and turned his attention to the food, unpacking the huge bag. "How did it go with Leo?"

"Good. He let me look at the case file and gave me copies."

"See, I told you people find it hard to say no to you." Logan smirked. "Especially former boyfriends who carry a torch."

"Please, we dated for like five seconds," Veronica said, rolling her eyes. "And do YOU really want to be discussing exes when yours is slinking around doing her best Judy Garland — _The Man That Got Away_ — impression?"

His mouth opened and closed and then he shook his head with a _'you got me'_ smile.

"That's what I thought." She put Wyatt's lunch on the table. Stared at the Turtle Time booster seat and frowned. It was preternaturally quiet in the house. Veronica wandered into the living room. No Wyatt, and the books were still on the floor. A quick search of the bedrooms, baths, and laundry room- all empty.

The back door was locked and the glowing alarm keypad said the system was armed so she couldn't have gone outside. "Wyatt?"

There was no answer, but a muffled, "Sit," from her office had Veronica moving in that direction. She opened the door to find Wyatt on the floor surrounded by her menagerie of stuffed dogs. One of Keith's ties was around her neck and his Padres cap was on her head. Partner's _real_ dog treats were scattered across the area rug. Tilting her face up, Wyatt pushed back the bill of the baseball cap and smiled. "Hi, Mama."

Veronica knelt on the floor. "Did you go through Grandpa's suitcase?"

"Me chop." She pointed to her toy shopping cart, lying on its side next to the desk, and then uncurled her fingers to reveal the squished dog treats in her hand. "Puppy cookies."

"Alone for five minutes," Veronica muttered under her breath, scraping the liver-flavored morsels from Wyatt's palm. "Why are these wet? Did you _eat_ them?"

"Me no like."

"Because they're for Partner."

Wyatt nodded. "He chared."

Veronica averted her face to hide her smile, schooled her features into a neutral expression, and turned back. "It was nice of Partner to share with you, but little girls don't eat dog treats, and they don't snoop through other people's things," she admonished with a pointed look at Keith's suitcase.

"You think you're the best person to teach that lesson?" Veronica's head whipped around. Logan was leaning on the door jamb, bowl cradled in his palm. He spooned beans into his mouth.

"You're not exactly qualified either." He inclined his head, acknowledging her point, and Veronica sighed. Nature and nurture were both working against them. _Do as I say, not as I do_ , definitely wasn't going to work as a parenting technique.

Oblivious to them, Wyatt had returned to 'training' her dogs. "Down," she instructed, and then knocked them on their sides. "Good puppies."

"It _is_ cute, though," Logan murmured, as he put his bowl on the desk and knelt next to her. "Okay Jellybean, let's put your dogs away." He righted the yellow-and-orange cart and started picking up the stuffed animals.

Wyatt folded her arms over her chest, a mutinous expression on her face. Before the 'no' could make it past her lips, Veronica said, "It's time for fancy finger foods, remember?" Wy's defiant posture softened a fraction, but it wasn't complete surrender. "If you help clean up, you can play Dog Whisperer after lunch."

Unsure, Wy chewed the tip of her finger.

"Time's ticking," Logan warned.

Squatting, she grabbed two animals and shoved them in the cart, then put a tan labradoodle in a headlock and announced, "I eat now." Without waiting for permission, she scampered from the room.

"You should go watch her; I'll finish in here."

With a salute, he hefted the cart under his arm and picked up his rice and beans. "Now remember, Veronica, no snooping."

She stuck her tongue out at his retreating back and finished scooping up the moist dog treats, using her fingernail to pull up the ones embedded in the carpet.

Wy mimicking Keith with Partner _was_ cute, and her dad would get a kick out of it. But while imitation might be a form of flattery, it was _exhausting_ to be under constant surveillance by a toddler. Wyatt picked up things Veronica was unaware of doing. Logan was right; if they weren't careful, Wy would be rolling her eyes and smirking any day now.

Heading for the kitchen, Veronica stopped just short of the doorway.

The green plastic tumbler had been exchanged for a fancy porcelain tea cup. Wyatt was holding it between two fingers, pinky extended, taking a loud sip of her chocolate milk. She thunked it on the table. "Daddy do."

Picking up his glass of iced tea, Logan took a drink, making noisy slurping sounds. Wyatt laughed, tossing her head back and sending the Padres cap to the floor. They were so beautiful together, Veronica didn't have the heart to frown at the poor table manners game. Logan's face was open and unguarded and happy. A tender smile curved his mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes as he watched Wy wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

 _She's only going to grow up once, Veronica._ The copies of the case files could wait. "Is there room at the table for me?"


	26. Shaking The Tree

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Veronica finished drying the kitchen table and spread out the copies of the case file, dividing it into the same sections as the original murder book. Waiting until after lunch had turned into waiting until after stuffed-dog training, and then into waiting until after story time. When Wyatt had requested yet another book-her _third_ -Veronica finally begged off, and left Logan in charge of naptime.

While her laptop booted, she flipped through the crime scene photos again, and then double-checked the evidence-collection log. Each item taken from the scene was chronicled on the numerical list. There was a brief description, date and time of collection, item location, the name of the tech who bagged the evidence, and yes/no checkboxes to indicate if it had been photographed and diagrammed in situ.

No illegal listening device was listed.

Her relief was short-lived. It was definite confirmation the police didn't have it, but it shored up the idea that Karen's killers had found it. Did finding it put a rapid end to both their search and Karen? Did they actually _leave_ the apartment without getting what they came for?

And, why did they keep returning to Karen?

The first time they went to rough her up, see what she knew about the theft. But they'd also threatened Pam and, presumably, the other dancers, so that visit wasn't about Karen herself. It was just shaking the tree to see what fell out.

But, if the mess Veronica witnessed on her visit with Pam was due to a search, then that was their second run at Karen. It meant they'd suspected she had the cash and coke, and she'd taken it with her when she'd fled to her mother's house. Yet they obviously didn't find anything because… Karen found it first?

What did she say on the recording? _'Oh my god; I'm so fucked,'_ Karen had figured it out. But instead of covering her ass, or calling the police, she'd blackmailed the thieves. Told them she had the stuff and was putting it _'someplace safe.'_ And evidently she didn't give up the location— even with a gun to her head—because why else would they return after the murder? Why come back to an active crime scene? Did they really believe the police would've missed five kilos of cocaine and a hundred grand hidden in a one-bedroom apartment?

"It's like a sleep seesaw - one goes down, and the other wakes up," Logan said, entering the kitchen with a yawning Bailey in his arms. "When will they nap at the same time?"

"Uh, never, apparently." Despite valiant efforts to get them on the same schedules, neither child seemed interested. "They have as much respect for authority as you do."

"Pot, kettle," he murmured, pulling a bag of breast milk out of the refrigerator. There shouldn't have been something sexy about watching a man make a bottle one-handed, while rocking a cranky baby...but there was. Or maybe it was just Logan. Veronica propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm to watch him.

His reason for leaving the military was currently taking a nap, but she knew he would've made the same decision for Bailey. _Anyone can fly planes for the Navy, Veronica, but no one else will ever be Wyatt's father_. Missing milestones in his daughter's life was unacceptable to him. He'd been here for a lot of them—first smile, first laugh, sitting up on her own, starting to walk—but even missing _one_ was too much for him. How was he going to feel if Tyler was his son? That would be five years of his child's life he could never get back.

"What did you find?" Logan asked, crossing the kitchen to join her at the table.

"Huh?" Blinking, she dropped her hand from her chin and turned unseeing eyes to the files spread in front of her. "I haven't found anything yet."

"Then what inspired the deep thinking?"

"Dinner. Specifically, baked ziti with warm, crunchy garlic bread." He smirked at her answer, and she frowned at him. "Make one wise-ass comment about my eating and there'll be no healthy salad for you."

"I'll survive." He kicked out one of the chairs and took a seat to feed the baby. With her eyes riveted to his face, Bailey had a firm grip on his pinky finger, and was cooing in between the sucking and swallowing. Logan smiled at her, cooing in return.

Veronica bit her bottom lip. Dropping her gaze to the computer screen, she pulled up the final audio recording of Karen to check the time. "Maybe you should ask Pam and Tyler to come for dinner?" She reached for the phone records. "This way Dottie and my dad can watch Tyler while we're at the club tonight."

Silence from Logan, but Veronica could feel his eyes boring into her face. Avoiding the intent scrutiny, she thumbed through the pages looking for the right date and said, "No kid should spend that much time with Dick Casablancas."

Still nothing from Logan. Veronica tried again. "We can put the air mattress in Bailey's room for him."

"For him or for me? Because the evening you're proposing doesn't sound like it will end well." He sat Bailey upright on his lap, leaned her forward, and gently patted her back until she burped.

"I wouldn't make you sleep on the air mattress." She glanced at him. "The couch maybe, but never the air mattress."

"Too comfortable?"

Veronica grinned. "Exactly."

A pained smile in response. "If that's what you want, I'll call Pam." Standing, he draped the burp cloth over his shoulder and laid the baby on his chest. "And I'll reserve another room at the Holiday Inn." He started from the kitchen, and added, "Just in case I need it later."

The second he disappeared from view, she regretted her idea, but resisted the urge to call him back. Pam may have kept Tyler from him for five years, but _Veronica_ was the one keeping them apart now, and it was selfish. With a sigh, she pushed aside the personal to focus on the case.

Phone records were in the final section of the murder book, along with the crime scene tower dumps, social media posts, and all additional documents relevant to the case. It was still early in the investigation, but the detectives had already generated a lot of paper. Thankfully, Veronica didn't need to weed through it all. She just needed to know who Karen had threatened for a piece of the action.

And the winner was…

No one. Not a single call was made from the apartment corresponding to the date and time of the recording. She frowned. That meant Karen had a new cell. Veronica reviewed the evidence log. There were none collected from the scene.

Did the killers take it with them?

The number _might_ appear on the tower dump. _If_ Karen had made any calls during the time frame the police requested. But there could be hundreds, if not thousands, of calls bouncing off the towers servicing the crime scene. And if she was using a disposable phone…

Veronica picked up the pile of warrants. The first was a Mincey warrant. _Smart move_. Since the apartment belonged to Karen's absent mother, they weren't able to get consent for a search, and there was no murder scene exception to the 4th Amendment. It was nice to see competent police work. After living in Neptune, it was easy to forget such things existed.

She located the warrants she wanted. There were two cell towers servicing the apartment. One on University by the 805, owned by Verizon, and the closer one located on Fairmount belonged to T-Mobile. The SDPD had requested an hour before the 911 call and an hour after. Almost the same two-hour window Veronica was using to alibi her suspects. Trying to identify each number would be like searching for a needle in a stack of needles.

"Pam said she'll be here at six, and" —Logan returned, Bailey in one arm, her Fisher Price Kick-and-Play in the other— "do you know where the piano to this thing is?"

"Wyatt took it to play band."

"So, lost in the abyss under her bed?"

"Probably." Veronica stacked the photocopies in a pile and pushed them to the side. There had to be some other way to figure out who Karen had called that night. Maybe incoming logs from her suspects' cell phones?

Tiny mewls of displeasure from the floor drew her attention. Bailey was on the playmat making her grumpy face-lips turned down, forehead scrunched-and kicking her legs. She swatted the dangling elephant clacker, and let out a short, plaintive cry.

"Someone's obviously not happy." Veronica leaned over to stroke her head. "Did Daddy have the nerve to put you down? Doesn't he know he's supposed to hold you twenty-four-seven?"

Bailey agreed with a loud _'ah, ah, ah,'_ and flailed her arms for emphasis.

"I can't hold her and make your baked ziti," Logan said, exiting the pantry, arms laden with boxes of pasta, a large pot, and the casserole dish.

"I was going to cook."

He directed a pointed look at the paperwork spread before her. "Sure you were."

"Well, we'll never know now, will we?" Veronica gave the baby a pacifier, pulled the bouncer seat closer to the playmat and turned on the portable noise machine, selecting Bailey's favorite 'ocean waves' sound effect. Bay smiled around the binky. "Why can't you always be that easy to please?"

"Because then she wouldn't be ours; difficult and demanding are in her genetic code." He finished filling the stock pot with water and placed it on the range. "Do we have any of Dick's marinara sauce left, or did you eat it all?" It was clearly rhetorical because he'd already located the two large containers in the freezer and was setting them on the counter to thaw.

Veronica exchanged the police reports and crime scene photos—best to have those gone before Wyatt woke up—for the background checks from her messenger bag. The one for Pam was right on top. With a guilty glance at Logan's back, she shuffled it to the bottom of the pile, and opened the file for Michael 'Mickey' Barnes.

Name - Michael Connor Barnes; Age - 29; Known aliases - Mickey Barnes, Mickey Burnes; Mick Burn. His current address was not far from Loretta's condo, and his current employer was listed as Shenanigans. Credit score was an okay 650, credit card balances were high, and his payment history was spotty.

"Mickey Barnes went to Hearst."

Logan looked up from the ground beef he was browning. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, he started after we were long gone; quit after his sophomore year without earning his chemistry degree."

"Slacker." He picked up a yellow onion, bounced it in his palm, and pulled a utility knife from the butcher block. Knife poised over the onion, he paused. "Will Wyatt eat them if they aren't batter-dipped and fried?"

"Who knows? But you might not want to take any chances." Last week Wyatt found a teeny, tiny sliver of mushroom touching her pork chop, declared 'me no like' and now the other white meat was banned from the dinner table. At least until she changed her mind.

Logan set the onion aside and slid the knife back into its slot, and Veronica returned to the background check.

"Apparently Mickey's education wasn't a complete waste - he was sentenced to five years in Chino for making meth."

"Cooking up a little crystal blue persuasion?"

Veronica shook her head. "Anyone can cook. Case in point." She waved her hand toward Logan as evidence. "Mickey was _synthesizing_ it… and, FYI, that song was about Tommy James's conversion to Christianity."

"Sure it was." Logan smirked. "And Walt was only a chemistry teacher."

Rolling her eyes, she flipped through Mickey's recent bank statement. No savings account and his checking account was just weekly deposits from Shenanigans followed by a steady stream of ATM withdrawals. The lack of checks or automatic payments made it easy to assume his expenses and bills were paid with cash, but made it hard to trace his movements.

 _Trace his movements._

His movements weren't the ones she needed to track. Veronica shuffled the folders to find Karen's background check. If she could determine what Karen was up to in the days preceding her death, maybe she could make the same connections that led Karen to the thief.

"Daddy! Potty!" Wyatt's shouts echoed down the hall along with her thundering feet, interrupting Veronica's perusal of ATM purchases.

She put down Karen's statement to glance at Logan. "Do you want me to go?"

"Why?" He'd already stopped grating the mozzarella and was wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Are you trying to start the apocalypse?"

Veronica tipped her head, conceding the point.

Anticipating Wyatt's imminent arrival, she set aside the credit card bill and shoved the rest of the folders in her bulging messenger bag. Papers left in the open were a clear invitation to _'do art'_. And, while it would be colorful, Veronica did not need crayon scribbles, glue, glitter, and stickers decorating her case files.

A naked-from-the-waist-down Wyatt bounded into the kitchen and raced for the table, shouting, "M'up!" She collided with Veronica's knees. "M'up!"

"I can see that." Smoothing her unruly hair, Veronica kissed her forehead. "How was your nap?"

Wyatt scowled and shook her head, undoing the neatened strands of hair. "Me no like."

There was no point addressing the statement, because it was an argument she'd never win. "Where are your pants?"

As if surprised by her lack of clothes, Wyatt looked down, lifting one bare leg to examine it for her missing leggings. She did the same with her other leg, put it back down, and started twirling around the room. "Water spin!"

The explanation only made sense if you were under three, apparently. "Water spin?" 

"In the toilet," Logan said, returning with a clean pair of leggings, underwear, and socks in his hand. "She'd climbed into the bowl and was flushing the toilet to make the water spin around her legs."

Wyatt stopped her twirling. "It go bye-bye." She bowed her head to stare at her feet. "Where go?"

"Down the drain," Veronica answered, rising from her chair to take the clothes from Logan. "Now let's get you dressed before-"

"No," she screeched, balling her hands into fists, and streaking toward the living room. "No pants!"

Startled by the yelling, Bailey spit out her pacifier and screamed in unison with her sister.

"See, they're already ganging up on us." Veronica leveled Logan with a measured stare. "And you want more- _why_?" She picked up the baby and wiggled the pacifier between her lips until she quit her fussing and latched on to the nipple.

"You know I love a challenge." Logan booped her nose, slid the clothes from her grasp, and started after the still-shrieking Wyatt. "Wish me luck."

"You're gonna need it." Veronica watched him go and then eyed the baby. "He needs luck and I need five minutes of silence to call your Aunt Mac- think you can be quiet that long?"

Bailey stared at her all wide-eyed innocence, but there was a devilish glint in her eye. Veronica sighed. "That's what I thought."

Rocking the baby, she picked up Karen's credit card bill. There was a charge from Orbitz. The amount said it was probably her mother's plane ticket to Sacramento, and the $8.00 for airport parking the same day confirmed it. A purchase at Wicked Venus for $53.61 was followed by a debit of $80.00 from Plush - the strip club that shared the store's parking lot. And the rest was just food, food, food.

Several charges from Baja Pizza and even more from the assorted take-out places along University Avenue—Wingstop, WaBa Grill—but Tom's Chinese BBQ was the one to necessitate the call to Mac. It was located in the same shopping center as Apple Liquors with its outdoor ATM and possible camera.

She'd intended to mention the store to Leo, and she would have if their conversation wasn't cut short by the nosy detective. It would be easier for him to get the stills from the surveillance camera than it would be for Mac, but it was probably better this way. Veronica could search the footage without having to play quid pro quo.

"Me cook!" Wyatt announced upon her fully-dressed return to the kitchen. She grabbed the edge of her step stool, dragged it from under the coffee bar, then across the floor to the island.

Her compliance with the pants edict had happened faster than Veronica expected. "How'd you perform that miracle?" she asked Logan.

"Behold, the power of cheese." As he answered, Wyatt scrambled onto the stool and reached for a handful of grated mozzarella. She shoved the cheese in her mouth, leaving stray pieces stuck to her cheeks and chin, and then jammed another fistful into her mouth. Logan smiled. "A true Mars."

"Yeah well, _this_ Mars would like some cheese on her baked ziti so, uh, what say we don't let her eat it all, okay?"

"Yes ma'am." He saluted Veronica and joined Wyatt at the counter, taking hold of her fingers before she could pick up yet another scoop. "We need to wash these first"—he waggled her hand—"and then I'll show you how to use a grater."

Her lips puffed into an instant pout while she stared longingly at the mound of cheese, but she didn't complain when Logan picked her up and set her on the counter near the sink. "What dat?"

"A colander," Logan answered, taking the metal strainer out of the sink before squirting some soap in Wyatt's palm. "We use it to drain the pasta, remember?"

Wyatt nodded. "Roni!" She smacked her hands together and then held them out, palms up. "More toap."

"You have enough." To demonstrate, he rubbed her hands between his, lathering the dish soap into frothy bubbles, and then blew across her hand, lofting the foam into the air.

She giggled. "Do 'gain."

"I think Rabbit wants to blow bubbles with you," Veronica said, transferring Bailey to her bouncer and carrying it to the counter. Logan raised a questioning eyebrow. "I want to put my files away, and I need to make a quick call to Mac." Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek. "You can handle dinner without me, right?"

"Sure… and you can do cleanup and dishes without me."

"Deal." She retrieved her messenger bag from the table. "I'll even make the garlic bread and do bathtime."

It was the better end of their deal and, judging by Logan's smirk, they both knew it. Wyatt would be too busy with the dog to want to help with the dishes; Dottie would never let Veronica clean the kitchen alone; and, bathtime was easy because it involved two of Wyatt's favorite things - water and being naked.

Before he could change his mind, Veronica hustled down the hall to their bedroom. She locked the door behind her and dumped her bag on the floor in front of the fireplace. The quiet was seductive, tempting her to linger. A blazing fire, bubble bath, and a nap sounded way better than dinner with Pam and Tyler… _and_ _Keith_.

Veronica groaned. Tonight's dinner was going to resemble the Spanish Inquisition. There was no way Keith would pass on the opportunity to ask Pam questions. Either Veronica was going to have to keep them apart, or… There was no _'or'._ Pam and Keith could not be left alone. And Logan was worried the night wouldn't end well for _him_. Maybe she should text her dad, tell him they were having boiled kale and fish for dinner? That would definitely keep him away.

She dug out her phone, considered sending the text again, and instead did the mature, responsible thing and dialed Mac's cell. She answered on the second ring and said, "I see you're still trying to avoid your dad."

 _Was she a mind reader?_ "Uh… Oh, you mean because I called your cell and not the office."

"Yeah- what did you think I meant?"

Veronica shook her head. "Not important, moving on. How goes the very legal, completely above-board search into Sam's shell companies?" She shuffled through the contents of her bag to locate Pam's partnership agreement.

"A lot slower without banking records and tax returns," Mac complained.

"So nothing new?"

"I didn't say _unproductive,_ just slow… and boring. I've been searching online property records and Paige spent the morning at the county clerk's office."

"And?"

"We found two other strip clubs—one in Los Angeles and another in Neptune—both decidedly less _upscale_ than Shenanigans." 

It wasn't exactly earth-shattering news. Stripping was Sam's business and it obviously paid well— _hello beachfront mansion and Maserati_ —so it made sense for him to own other clubs. Maybe Logan was right and the shell companies were only created to avoid paying taxes on his cash-lucrative businesses. Not that she was opposed to nailing him for tax evasion. After all, it was good enough for Al Capone.

"Text me the names of the other clubs and I'll look into them. In the meantime, here's something you can do that might be more interesting." Veronica told her about Apple Liquors. "Joey's driving a silver S-class sedan, but you should see if he has any other cars registered to him. Do the same for Sam and his henchmen and all the dancers so we can compare it to whatever you find from the ATM."

"Should I have Paige keep looking for other properties owned by the shell companies?"

"Yes and while she's at it, see if she can find out who sold the mansion to Sam." Veronica turned the pages of the partnership agreement until she reached the clause about the corporate books. "I also need you to do a deep-dive on an accountant in San Diego; his name's Steven Haverly, he prepares the financials for the club."

"Anything else?"

 _Was there?_ Veronica frowned at the agreement in her hand and then her gaze moved to Karen's credit statement. Most of the charges were food related so unless _'eating pork buns'_ was the answer to how Karen figured out the identity of the thief… "Find out who owns Plush - it's a strip club on Midway-and see if there are any surveillance cameras in the area."


	27. Past in Present

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The doorbell interrupted her reading. Veronica's head snapped up, eyes darting to the clock on the nightstand. _Crap_. So much for just a 'quick' call to Mac. Obviously, the quiet of their room (and _maybe_ the background check on Pam) had proved too hard to resist.

Fingers-crossed Logan wasn't pissed about her lengthy disappearing act. Veronica smirked. His level of angry would probably correlate to the level of kid misbehavior. But really how bad could it be? No screaming, yelling, or crying had broken the silence in hours. In fact it was _too_ quiet.

Another chime from the doorbell scrambled her into action. She dropped the files into her nightstand, hopped off the bed, and hurried from the room, reaching the front hall before one more round of Westminster Quarters could play. Veronica noted the absence of the stroller from its place next to the hall tree, and then checked the security monitor - Pam and Tyler.

"We're a little early," Pam said at the same time Tyler asked, "Where's Wyatt?"

"She's out with Logan, but they should be back soon." Veronica stepped aside to let them enter and scanned the street. There was no sign of her family, but both cars were in the driveway so they hadn't gone far. "You can play in her room if you want."

He looked to Pam for permission, barely waiting for her nod before zooming out of sight. She smiled after her son. "I think the meaning of the word patience is lost on him."

"It's lost on me too - just ask Logan." Veronica closed and locked the door. "So what's in the pot?" She jutted her chin toward the marine-blue Dutch oven Pam was holding. Even if she didn't recognize it as one of Dick's pieces of Le Creuset, she'd know it was from him by the smell of garlic and onions wafting from it.

"Logan said we were having baked ziti, so Dick made meatballs." Pam held out the heavy cast-iron pot and Veronica took it from her. It was still warm to the touch, which meant the meatballs were the perfect, ready-to-eat temperature. Veronica's stomach growled. Who was she kidding? They could be ice-cold and she'd still devour them.

"Don't let him fool you; when Dick sends food, he says it's for me, but"—she started for the kitchen—"he's really trying to woo Logan."

Pam laughed, dropping her bag on the bench of the hall tree and following Veronica. "As in, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"

"Absolutely. I mean, Logan's tried to let him down easy, but Dick just can't let go. Keeps trying to prove he'd make a better wife."

"That's a bootless errand."

"Well no one's ever accused Dick of being smart." Veronica set the meatballs on the stove next to the foil-covered casserole dish and lifted the lid. "But at least he can cook." She grabbed a fork from the dish drain, skewered one of the meatballs and took a large bite. "Do you want one?" she asked around a mouthful of beef, pork, and veal perfection.

"No, thanks." Pam patted the top of the Keurig. "Would you mind?"

"Help yourself." Leaning against the counter, she ate the rest of the meatball and watched Pam make her coffee. Under the guise of small talk, Veronica asked, "Is your dad still stationed at Nellis?" From the background check, she knew he wasn't; Colonel Mitchell had died a year after Tyler was born.

"He passed away a few years ago."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." She tossed her fork in the sink and crossed to the fridge. "I just assumed he was the one who told you how to find Logan."

Pam took a slow sip of her coffee, studying Veronica over the rim of the mug. "I called in a favor from a friend."

A high-ranking military friend, no doubt. Veronica needed to get herself one of those. Then again, maybe not. Pam's source wasn't very reliable, seeing as he completely missed Logan's DD214. _Wallace_ would've gotten the _entire file_ , not just an address.

"Did he ever get to meet Tyler?" Veronica asked, putting the garlic and butter on the counter and closing the fridge. "Your dad, I mean."

"He did." She slid onto one of the stools opposite Veronica. "Our relationship was…" Tapping a finger against the side of her mug, she tilted her head and pursed her lips in thought. "...not good." A wry smile said this was an understatement. "But we got along better after Ty was born- my dad just loved him."

Reconciling with an estranged parent after giving birth to your own child. _Huh, who woulda thunk it?_ Veronica smashed the heel of her hand into the flat of the knife, crushing the garlic clove beneath. Maybe it was possible if said parent lived in the same state... wasn't a raging alcoholic… remembered your existence. Veronica crushed another garlic clove. How'd they stray into dangerous conversational territory anyway? This was supposed to be a fact-finding mission, not a heart-warming Hallmark movie.

"Have you ever heard of a strip club called Plush?"

The mention of the place—or possibly the abrupt subject change—elicited a frown from Pam. "It sounds familiar, but…" Her eyes widened with recognition. "That's next door to Wicked Venus, right?"

 _What the frak? Did all strippers shop there?_ "Can you think of a reason Karen might have gone to Plush? Was she friends with one of their dancers? Maybe she was looking for a new place to work?" The idea of Karen job-hunting while being terrorized by mobsters and drug dealers was definitely a long shot, but a girl needed to eat; and if Karen didn't have the stolen cash, her resources may have been running low.

"I don't know? Maybe?" Pam bowed her head to stare at the contents of her mug. "We weren't that close. More friendly co-workers, not friends who are co-workers, know what I mean?"

Veronica did know, but the answer wasn't very helpful. She added _'visit Plush'_ to her mental list of things to do. "Do any of the girls moonlight there?" Six nights a week at Shenanigans made it improbable, but other clubs operated during the day, so there could be one or two dancers looking for extra income.

Pam shook her head. "There's a clause in our employment agreement?" She grimaced at the term and tried again. "Contract? That says we can't dance anywhere else while working at the club."

It sounded very much like a non-compete clause, which were illegal in California. But as Pam had already pointed out, a lot of what happened inside some strip clubs was against the law. Veronica nixed the idea of Karen meeting one of the dancers at Plush. Unless… "Have you put together the list of girls who quit Shenanigans?"

"It's in my bag," Pam said, putting down her mug and sliding off the stool. "I also brought their personnel files with contact information." Her voice trailed her from the room, growing fainter the further she walked.

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, Veronica shoved an entire meatball in her mouth, and tossed the garlic and butter into a saucepan as she thoughtfully chewed. Could one of the former dancers now be working at Plush? And if so, what did Karen want from them? Maybe she gave someone the cash and drugs to hold?

"Eight girls have left," Pam said, returning to the kitchen and her stool. She set the files on the soapstone counter. "But only two worked the private parties; their files are on top."

Veronica turned off the burner under the garlic butter. "What made you think Sam was looking for a new supplier? Did he set the meeting with the dealers, or did they approach him?"

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure? But when Mickey told me about the party, he definitely made it sound like Sam was the one who arranged it."

So Sam had Mickey handle the details of the buy. It made sense. If Sam needed a new coke supplier, who better to ask than his meth-cooking henchman? Of course if the dealers were Mickey's connections, it meant he'd be able to identify the two men at the party with Ethan Callahan for her. Not that he was going to voluntarily give up the information. But did it matter?

Veronica opened the bread drawer, removed a paper-wrapped loaf of Italian and set it on the cutting board. Selecting a knife, she sliced open the bread.

She'd already decided the odds of Sam robbing some low-level dealers inside his own club were slim-to-none, _especially_ if he was the one looking to do business with them. Ditto for his nephew, Dom. But what if you flipped the equation? Given a chance to partner with Sam, would the dealers ruin it by stealing from him? Would they willingly make an enemy out of a man like Sam Carlucci?

"Logan said you wanted to go to Shenanigans early tomorrow?"

Keeping her answer vague, Veronica said, "I really need to get a look at the VIP rooms while the club is empty."

"Yeah well, that's not going to be so easy." Pam returned to the Keurig to make another cup of coffee. "First there's the cleaning crew; they get there around eight and don't leave until after noon, which is usually when Joey gets in. He says he shows up early to supervise deliveries and go over the books, but"—she shrugged—"who knows what he's doing in his office?"

Joey's alone time in his office wasn't something Veronica wanted to think about. "Does he stay until the club opens?"

"No, he's only there for an hour or two, longer if he's auditioning, but then the rest of the staff start arriving. Plus there are always security guards on site."

It was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. In fact, a crowd might be useful. The bevy of workers and guards could allow her to slip under the radar unnoticed. "Do you think—"

Beeps from the alarm cut off Veronica's question, and she grinned at the loud, animated toddler chatter that accompanied her family's arrival home. "No, Daddy, b'own _and_ white." Wyatt's declaration was punctuated with the bang of the front door. "Mama!"

She pounded into the kitchen, humming with energy and cranking up the room's noise level from a zero to a ten. "Mama!" Wyatt shouted as if they were separated by miles instead of feet. "Me saw 'doodles!" She threw herself at Veronica's legs.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est? Doodles?" Her gaze moved from Wyatt's happy upturned face to Logan, standing in the doorway gingerly trying to remove Bailey's fist from his mouth.

"Labradoodles," he said, successfully extricating the baby's hand, and nodding a hello to Pam. "Our neighbor's dog had puppies."

"I don't know what worries me more, the talk of puppies"—Veronica squatted to remove Wyatt's jacket—"or the fact that YOU know our neighbor."

Pam chuckled into her coffee mug, and Logan's jaw dropped as if offended by the character assessment. "Well, I never!" He sadly shook his head. "The neighbor and I are practically BFFs."

Veronica rolled her eyes at the sarcasm and, at the same time, kissed Wyatt's forehead so her daughter wouldn't see the gesture. "Tyler's in your room waiting to play; why don't you go tell him about the labradoodles."

With a nod, Wyatt raced from the room, shouting, "My doodles!"

 _Rut-roh_. Her gaze narrowed. "You didn't promise her a dog, did you?"

"There were absolutely no promises made." His smile was guileless and he followed it up by using his index finger to cross his heart, but Veronica wasn't buying the innocent act. Oh, the performance was good—excellent even—but she knew him too well, and she was _positive_ a brown-and-white labradoodle was in her near future.

She sighed. "So... is the puppy a boy or a girl?"

Logan opened his mouth to answer, and then clamped it shut, shaking his head and wagging a finger at her amateurish attempt to make him confess. His smile widened. "Golly gee, Veronica, just how easy do you think I am?"

Not easy at all, unless he wanted to be, and apparently now was not one of those times. "You know… I still have ways of making you talk."

"Looking forward to it." His eyebrows bobbed, flirty and suggestive, and he cocked his head to level her with his patented intense stare; the one that did funny things to her insides. "Tonight?"

Veronica bit her lip to keep from smiling, but it didn't stop her from skirting past the island and moving closer to him. "Tonight, huh?"

He nodded. "If you say yes, I'll tell you everything I know."

"You bet you will." She patted his cheek. "Now why don't you go check on the kids while I finish dinner?" The garlic bread was the last thing on her mind. What she really wanted was more time to question Pam _before_ Keith got here. Veronica kissed Bailey's head, inhaling the sweet baby smell. "And maybe get this one ready for bed?"

Logan raised a skeptical eyebrow and held the baby away from him to see her face. Alert and vocal, she did not look ready for bed at all. Bailey squawked at the loss of contact, and he quickly snuggled her close, cupping the back of her head and planting tiny kisses across her brow. "Sorry, Rabbit, I was just showing Mommy you're not tired."

"Ah-na-na-na!" She flailed an arm, smacking her palm against his chest.

"Okay, you win, no pajamas." He carried her from the room, continuing their conversation on his way down the hall. "But we can both agree on a new diaper, right?"

Smiling, Veronica returned her attention to dinner and Pam. Chin propped in her hand, Pam was staring into the yard, taking slow sips of her coffee. Something was on her mind. Veronica watched the expressions play across her face as she pondered whatever was troubling her. "Everything okay?"

The question startled Pam from her reverie. She thunked down her mug, and winced at the sound. "I was just thinking about Ty; he's starting to get… restless? Keeps asking me when we're going home, and about school, and when he can see Miss Kathy-the neighbor who watches him at night. I'm running out of excuses."

"What have you told him so far?"

"I tried vacation, but he didn't buy that, because Moms don't go to work when you're on vacation."

"Smart kid." Veronica located a basting brush and started coating the Italian bread with a heavy layer of garlic butter.

"Yeah." The pride in Pam's voice matched her smile. "He's so quick-he just learns things so fast and remembers _everything_."

Veronica's hands stilled at the description. It didn't mean anything. All parents thought their kids were geniuses. This was Pam bragging about her son, not offering up a comparison to Logan. She shook off the thought. "What did you tell him after vacation didn't work?"

"That it was a special visit for me to see some old friends. He's okay with it, but it doesn't stop him from wanting to play Legos with the kids at school."

Veronica put the tray of ziti in the oven, leaned a hip against the warm oven, and helped herself to another meatball. Routines gave children a sense of security, Veronica knew this. It was one of the reasons for making Sunday family day - to provide Wyatt and Bailey with structure. She'd worried about how all of this upheaval was affecting Wyatt, but completely failed to think about Tyler. Bouncing between here and Dick's was probably not doing him any good.

"I'm probably worrying for nothing." It was said without much conviction. The stool scraped across the floor as Pam abruptly stood. She carried her mug to the sink, rinsed it, and loaded it in the dishwasher. "Is there something I can do to help?"

"A salad." Veronica pulled open the fridge to search for lettuce. "All this pasta and cheese will make Logan long for a vegetable."

She found romaine, grape tomatoes, a cucumber, and a container of organic baby arugula tucked in the crisper drawer. Frowning at what was _definitely_ a Logan purchase, she tossed it on the counter with the rest of the ingredients and took out the color-coded green cutting board Dick had insisted she buy. She retrieved a bowl from the pantry and set it next to the sink where Pam was washing the lettuce. Picking up the personnel files, Veronica slid onto Pam's recently vacated stool.

The eight folders were woefully thin. It took her no time to flip through the bare-bones paperwork. As promised, there was contact information, including phone numbers and addresses, but little else. Veronica debated having Mac do full background checks on the dancers but decided to hold off. For now, she only needed to know if any of them were currently employed at Plush.

"Do you think Dom and Mickey will be at the club tonight?" It would be her fourth time dancing and, so far, the two henchmen had been either conspicuously absent (the night of Karen's murder) or sequestered behind closed doors; Veronica really needed to set eyes on them.

"Probably. Joey wants to reopen the other VIP rooms before the weekend, so Sam's got Frick and Frack doing something up there." Pam finished slicing the cucumbers, added them to the bowl. "Do you have onions?"

Veronica waved toward the pantry, indicating she should help herself. "When you said Dom and Mickey were at the club all the time _now_ -you meant since the party, right?" She was expecting Pam to say yes, and wasn't disappointed when the other woman nodded in confirmation. "What about before the theft? Did they come to the club a lot?"

"Not really." Pam continued cutting onion, adding paper-thin rings to the salad. "Either one or both of them would come in with Sam, once or twice a week maybe?"

"I had a friend at the FBI look into them." Veronica didn't say more, waiting for Pam to turn around. She wanted to gauge her reaction when she told her the rest.

It didn't take long. Pam swept the onion peels into the trash, dropped the knife in the sink, and faced Veronica, resting a hip against the counter. "What did they tell you?"

"Sam's clean. Even though they suspect him of a lot of bad stuff, he's got no record, and Dom's got several arrests, but no serious jail time. The interesting thing? Turns out, Dom is Sam's nephew."

Pam's surprised reaction—raised brows, gaping mouth—seemed genuine. But her surprise quickly gave way to… annoyance? Irritation? "Well that explains Siobhan." Her mouth twisted. "She's been giving me attitude, insisting on schedule changes, not wanting to work the private booths, and when she demanded a raise, Joey told me to give it to her."

"Bridget said they were sleeping together; any idea when it started?"

"A month? Possibly long-" The rest of the word was lost beneath the chime of the doorbell.

It was probably Keith, Dottie, and Partner. Veronica frowned. She'd wanted to warn Pam about Keith and his meddling. Advise her to not discuss the case with him. But she'd run out of time. Hopefully, she'd be able to keep them apart. Or at least prevent them from being alone. She scooped the files off the counter, carried them to the foyer with her, and hid them in the hall tree before answering the door.

Keith's gaze was aimed low. "Where's my little welcoming committee?" Partner looked just as disappointed by Wyatt's absence, pulling against his collar, and sniffing the air for her scent.

"She's in her room with Tyler and Logan. Where's Dottie?"

"I thought she'd be here by now"—his shoulders slumped—"she left the house before I did." He dropped to his haunches next to Partner to remove his leash. "Stay." The dog's tail whipped back and forth, but he obeyed Keith's command.

"I see the puppy training is finally paying off."

Standing, Keith waggled his hand in a so-so gesture. "At least he's stopped chewing Dot's shoes; she was almost ready to issue the him-or-me ultimatum." Palming a treat from his pocket, he fed it to the dog, and gave the 'go' release command. Partner immediately took off in search of Wyatt and trouble.

Veronica studied her dad. There were new lines around his eyes and he seemed tired. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, kiddo." He draped an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick reassuring squeeze, and started walking with her toward the kitchen. "And if that's lasagna I smell, my night's about to get even better."

They only managed a few steps before the doorbell rang again.

"You let Dottie in; I'll check on dinner. And, it's baked ziti, not lasagna," Veronica said, ducking out from beneath his arm.

"Call it what you want, it's still pasta and cheese." Rubbing his hands together, he made _mmm-mmm_ noises, and turned back to answer the door.

Barking and laughter echoed down the hall, signaling the imminent arrival of kids and dog. Veronica stepped out of the way to avoid getting trampled. Partner flew past—a pink boa trailing behind him—with both Tyler and Wyatt in hot pursuit.

Pam poked her head out of the kitchen to watch the crazy parade. Catching Veronica's eye, she asked, "Should we send them outside?"

"It's almost time to eat." There was still a good fifteen minutes before the ziti would be ready, but the chaos would cut down on the questions. She joined Pam in the kitchen. Raising her voice to be heard above the din, she said, "My dad will keep an eye on them, make sure they don't get into too much trouble."

On cue, Keith's calm voice mingled with the excited squeals coming from the living room. Veronica grinned. _Good luck getting them to listen to you_. She took down a stack of dishes, set them on the counter, and started gathering the correct amount of silverware.

"Do you want me to set the table?" Dottie asked, entering the kitchen with a large cake carrier. "I brought dessert."

Veronica accepted the offer, recruiting Pam to help her, and sent them to the dining room, ladened with plates and glasses. Alone, she peeked on the ziti, added the garlic bread to the top rack, and set the oven timer. Then she went in search of Logan.

He was in Bailey's room, lying on the floor behind the blow-up mattress. On his side with the baby next to him, he was making her stuffed giraffe march across her tummy. "Are you in here hiding?"

"Yes." Logan smiled as the baby raised her head, chin to chest, and tried to grab the giraffe with both hands.

Veronica sat on the edge of the inflatable mattress. "Chicken."

"Hey, this dinner was your screwy idea, not mine."

"Maybe, but you're the one who willfully signed up for a lifetime of supporting my 'screwy' ideas, so chop-chop, you're needed in the kitchen."

"We could always hide together? Put this one in her crib, and test out the air mattress? See if it lives up to its warranty?"

"Tempting,"—she stood—"but no. We have to eat dinner, do baths, and go to work. Pam says all my bad guys should be at the club tonight, and it's time to make them sweat."

"Words that strike terror in my heart." Logan rolled onto his back, rested his forearm over his eyes, and sighed. "How exactly do you plan on pissing off the mobsters, _dear_?"

"Carefully." She didn't actually have a plan, plan. A nascent idea, maybe, but not a plan. Veronica bent down, picked up the baby and her giraffe. "Now how 'bout you take care of my dinner while I take care of hers?"

Not waiting to see if he'd comply with her request (she knew he would), Veronica turned and carried the baby from the room and down the hall. A peek into the dining room as she passed confirmed Dot and Pam were still there and, more importantly, they were alone. Veronica continued to the living room for Bailey's bouncer.

It was quieter than expected.

Keith had unrolled Wyatt's butcher paper and somehow convinced Partner to lie across its white surface. The two kids were using crayons and markers to trace the dog's shape. "I'm impressed, Pops."

"It's not my first time at the rodeo; I raised you, remember?" Keith chuckled. "But actually it was Logan's idea - he suggested I let them trace _me_ , but this is better, since I prefer a supervisory role."

Veronica grinned at her husband's display of cunning. Suggesting an activity that allowed markers in the living room totally explained how he'd gotten the kids to leave him alone. He was a wily one, that man of hers. "Well then I'll leave you to it."

She gave Bailey her giraffe and picked up the bouncy chair. The baby's eyes widened as she squeezed the helpless stuffed animal between her hands, shoved it in her mouth, and started to gnaw its head.

"Gee, hungry much?" Veronica carried her into the kitchen, trying to dislodge the giraffe from between her gums. "Don't even think about teething early, kid."

Logan was already in the room, bent over the stove, potholders on his hands. He removed the tray of ziti, straightened, and closed the oven door with his knee. "Why'd you jinx us? You know, telling our kids, _not_ to do something is akin to an invitation." He set the casserole dish next to the garlic bread. "Now we'll be lucky if she waits until _tomorrow_ to start teething."

The accuracy of his statement was depressing. Raising headstrong, feisty, _defiant_ kids was hard. Maybe her father was right and parenting Veronica _was_ the reason for his baldness. There were _definitely_ some days she wanted to pull out her own hair, especially when Wyatt marched around the house saying no to everything and screaming at every perceived slight.

"Bribery might work." Veronica dumped a bag of breast milk into a bottle and waved it in front of Bailey's face. "Grow teeth and it'll be nothing but the bottle from here on out, understood?"

"Gah!" The baby thwacked Veronica's cheek with the sodden giraffe head and threw the animal to the floor.

"That certainly looked successful," Logan said dryly as he finished putting the slices of garlic bread in a basket.

Veronica sat the bouncer on the counter and strapped Bailey in the seat. "She totally gets it; don'tcha, Rabbit?" The baby answered with a bunch of _ah, ah, ah_ noises, which Veronica chose to take as agreement. Jamming the bottle in the warmer, she turned to Logan. "You stay with her and I'll bring the food out."

Seating was paramount. Veronica wanted to make sure Pam and Keith were at opposite ends. And, for good measure, she planned on putting the kids between them to act as buffers. Distractions. Tiny human shields.

A quick search through the drawers turned up a trivet. She carried it and the bread to the dining room. At least the setting for thisthwarted interrogation would be picturesque.

Pam and Dottie had cut some blossoms from the bougainvillea out front to use as a centerpiece, and they'd lit the taper candles on the sideboard. They'd also opened a bottle of cabernet. Veronica poured a glass, managing a healthy swallow before the two women returned with kids and Keith in tow.

Wyatt was the easiest mark. Veronica scooped her up mid-protest—she wasn't done _d'awing_ —and tried wrangling her into a booster seat. It was a struggle. Wyatt first squirmed to get free, then went limp and tried to slither out from beneath Veronica's arm. She tightened her hold around Wy's middle, and pointed Keith into a chair. "Look, Grandpa's going to sit next to you."

As predicted, it was enough to make Wyatt relent. With her cornerstone in place, directing the rest of the seating was a piece of cake. All it required was a simple, _Tyler, come sit next to Wyatt_ , and everyone positioned themselves accordingly, falling like dominoes into the seats she wanted them to occupy.

Veronica rewarded herself with another sip of wine. "I'll get Logan and the rest of the food."

"Do you want help?" Dottie asked, starting to rise.

"No, no, you stay, I've got it." She waved Dot back into her seat. Multiple trips would be better than giving anyone a chance to play musical chairs.

Logan had already begun feeding Bailey. She shooed the two of them into the dining room, following behind with the salad and a pitcher of sweet tea. A trip for Wyatt's chocolate milk and Tyler's water, and finally she carried in the baked ziti.

"So Pam," Keith started, adding a piece of garlic bread to his plate. "Where did you and Logan meet?"

Veronica rolled her eyes at his predictability. He was warming Pam up with the softball questions, keeping his tone conversational to put her at ease. Now if he'd just stick to the personal and not stray toward the case, Veronica could relax her guard and let him work.

"At Caesar's Palace."

"Et tu Brute," Logan murmured, _sotto voce_ , and then raised his voice to add, "Pam was a blackjack dealer."

"And you two became fast friends over a hand of cards?" Keith arched a doubtful eyebrow.

Pam laughed. "He impressed me with his ability to count them."

Logan swallowed, hard. Veronica clocked the sound along with the rigid set of his shoulders and the furtive glance directed down the table at Keith. When there was no reaction or negative comment from her dad, Logan exhaled, relieved. But his body didn't get the message. It was still tensed and ready for conflict - fight or flight.

"Uh, Dad." Veronica nodded toward Wyatt. "Your granddaughter needs you."

Wyatt was touching each piece of macaroni on her plate and declaring it hot. She sandwiched a noodle between her fingers and held it out to Keith. "B'ow, Gwampa." When he didn't immediately understand and comply, she got louder and more insistent. "B'ow!" Screwing her lips into a pucker, she demonstrated. "B'ow."

Smiling, Keith leaned forward to blow across the piece in her hand _and_ the ones remaining on her plate. Wyatt looked disappointed by his foresight. Clearly she was expecting to turn this into a game, and Grandpa had just foiled her intent. Instead of eating it, she dropped the ziti back on her plate, eyed Keith's garlic bread.

He ripped the slice and gave her half. "Are you from Vegas, Pam? Is that where you were born?"

"No." She shook her head. "I was born on an Air Force base in Germany." Pam poured herself a glass of sweet tea and waggled the pitcher in Logan's line of sight - a silent offering. When he jerked his head _no_ , she turned to Veronica.

Veronica held out her glass. Keith was compiling information. He needed certain parameters in order to… do what exactly? Run his own background check? Call in a favor from his Vegas counterpart, Tom Decintio? Either way, they'd be here all night without an assist from her. "When did you move to… Santa Monica, was it?"

Logan looked up from where he was strapping Bailey into her Sit-Me-Up floor seat to cast a disbelieving frown in Veronica's direction. Obviously he was not buying her inability to remember where Pam lived after Vegas.

And neither was Pam. Her troubled gaze swung between Veronica and Keith. "Three years ago, right before Ty's second birthday."

Recognizing her distress at the tag-teaming inquisition (or maybe it was his own distress), Logan changed the subject. "Jake told me he volunteered to help you with the kids tomorrow." He threw a pair of air quotes around the word 'volunteered' and Dottie smiled.

"I wanted to take them to…" A glance at Tyler and Wyatt made her switch to spelling. "L-E-G-O L-A-N-D tomorrow, and I couldn't do it alone."

It was impossible to miss Keith's wounded expression at Dot choosing someone else to spend the day with, even if it was her son. Veronica frowned. Something was definitely going on between the two of them.

"L.E…" Tyler had stopped eating to puzzle out Dot's clue. "G.O… hey, that spells LEGO!" His eyes grew wide. "Are we really going to Legoland?" He swished his fork back and forth like a sword. "They have Ninjago world! You can fight the Great Devourer and become a NINJA!"

Not to be left out of the excitement, Wyatt picked up her fork and started swinging it around. "Me n'ja too!"

"Sure, you can be a ninja, but first"—Logan pointed to her plate—"you have to eat dinner."

The fork clattered to her plate. With her fingers Wyatt put a piece of meatball in her mouth while studying the macaroni. She picked up a piece and slid her pinky finger into the tube. Grinning, she started to put ziti on all her fingers. Sauce splattered on Keith's arm.

Veronica hid her smile behind a napkin. "Need some help down there, Dad?"

"Nope, I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this glass of chocolate milk." Keith made a slow grab for Wyatt's cup.

When she tried to prevent him from stealing it, she realized that macaroni fingers were not the best idea. She chewed a noodle off her pinkie and frowned at Grandpa. "My milk."

"Oh, is it?" A vehement nod made him smile, but he let his hand hover over her glass long enough to make a point. Wyatt furiously pulled noodles from her fingers, splashing more sauce in her race to get her milk. Keith picked up his own drink and took a sip. "So what made you leave Vegas, Pam? And why California?"

Her hand paused mid-air, a piece of meatball skewered on the tines of her fork. "It's not the best place to raise kids, and after my father died…" Pam gave a slight shrug. "There wasn't a reason to stay."

Keith's next question was loaded up and ready. "Was it difficult to move out of state with your custody agreement?"

If Veronica hadn't been watching Pam, waiting for her answer, she would've missed her reaction. It flitted across her face like a ghost. A look of raw fear.


	28. Sympathy for the Devil

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Pam's expression stayed with Veronica for the rest of dinner, during kitchen clean-up, and right through bath time. She'd recovered fast, pasting a smile on her face and answering Keith's question— _there is no custody agreement_ —but she'd stopped eating. Aimlessly pushing food across her plate, Pam had let dinner happen around her without participating. Her disengagement had been aided and abetted by Dot, who'd snapped at Keith— _stop interrogating the girl_ —when he'd tried asking another question.

Wyatt shoved her "pajamas" into Veronica's hands, reclaiming her attention. A pair of pink Peppa Pig thermal pants, an electric blue boa, and one purple leg warmer were Wyatt's chosen bedtime attire. "Where's your shirt?"

"No." With a raise of her chin, she stared at Veronica, daring her to argue.

"Okay." Veronica put the clothes on the bed, stood, and crossed the room to the dresser. She retrieved the matching thermal top and a pair of underwear. "But I'm going to leave your Peppa shirt here." She draped it over the rail of the sleigh bed. "In case you get cold."

Wyatt's nose wrinkled as she glared at the offending shirt, but she let Veronica dress her without any fuss. That is until Veronica tried to put the leg warmer on her leg. Wyatt snatched it away and tugged it up her arm like a hand-less opera glove. She skipped over to her dress-up trunk and pulled on a fuzzy purple top hat.

"Who wants a story?" Logan caught sight of Wyatt's wardrobe and grinned. "I didn't know this was going to be a formal event - am I underdressed?" He glanced down at his black cotton tee and jeans. "I _feel_ underdressed."

"Aww, do you want a boa and fancy hat too?" Standing on her toes, Veronica kissed his jaw. "I'm sure Wyatt will hook you up."

Their daughter nodded. "Daddy hat!" She clapped her hands and then her top half disappeared inside her trunk.

"Thanks for that." Logan spoke directly into Veronica's ear before nabbing the lobe between his teeth and giving it a playful nip.

"Well, if you'd stop buying her dress-up clothes, you wouldn't have to wear that." Veronica jutted her chin toward Wyatt, who was holding a purple, cone-shaped princess hat with a veil.

Logan shrugged, unconcerned by the fashion choice, and lifted Wyatt so she could put the hat on his head. She pulled back to study the effect and declared, "Pretty Daddy."

He checked his reflection in the mirror and fluffed out the veil, primping, which made Wyatt giggle. Logan kissed her nose. "Now we're both fancy enough for story time." He handed her the book and flew her over to the bed.

Veronica watched as he tucked her in, pulling the covers up to her chin and covering her face with kisses before folding his tall frame into her toddler bed. Wyatt snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest. Logan tipped the fuzzy purple hat out of his way, opened the picture book, and started to read.

"This is Olivia. She is good at lots of things. She is _very_ good at wearing people out." Logan stopped. "Are we sure this isn't a story about someone named Wyatt?" He flipped back to the cover and tapped the title. "Nope, it definitely says Olivia, but... I'm not convinced."

Smiling, Veronica leaned against the door jamb, reluctant to leave. Watching them together was too sweet. Sometimes she wondered what their high-school selves would think of them now - married, kids, a house in the 'burbs. _You've come a long way, baby_. Veronica doubted past-Logan would see himself as a good father, or any kind of father for that matter.

Her smile slipped.

Was that why Pam had lied? Did she keep Tyler from Logan because she didn't think he'd be a good father? It wouldn't be a stretch. The Logan she'd met was drinking heavily, doing drugs, ODing on speedballs. Even later, after he'd cleaned up his act, he'd still worked a dangerous job. One that kept him from home for months at a time and could result in his death. Plus Pam had issues with military fathers. Maybe she didn't want the same childhood for Tyler?

"Wyatt...er, _Olivia_ gets dressed. She has to try on everything," Logan read.

Nodding in approval of the story pig's antics, Wyatt put out her hand to keep him from turning the page. She pointed to one of the pictures. "Tutu."

He joined her game naming an evening gown and a baseball cap, and Veronica left them to it. She'd stop back in during the next book for goodnight kisses. But for now, she needed to get ready, and check on Pam's whereabouts.

If Pam had doubts about Logan's father potential back then, it was obvious she'd been wrong. Logan wasn't just a good father, he was amazing. Patient and tender and willing to sacrifice anything for his children - his time, his career, his perfectly-coiffed hair by donning a princess hat.

Could that be the reason for Pam's look of panic when Keith mentioned custody agreements? Was she lying to Logan now because she was afraid he'd take Tyler away from her?

Veronica's steps faltered and she frowned.

Would Logan want custody?

It was something Veronica had never considered. He was eager to help Pam. He liked her. Maybe a part of him even loved her. But did he see her as a good mom? If Tyler was his son, would he take the kid away? Veronica couldn't imagine Logan taking a boy from his mother, but she also couldn't see him being content with visitation every other weekend, two weeks in the summer, and alternate holidays. Joint physical custody? Alternating weeks? Pam could lose her son for half the time.

The subject of her thoughts was still in Bailey's room with Tyler. Their voices muffled by the closed door. Veronica was half-tempted to turn on the baby monitor in her room to listen, but she was pretty sure Pam wasn't in there confessing to her five-year-old. _Yes, Logan's your dad, but we can't say anything to him, okay?_

Veronica shook her head. It was time to focus on tonight and not her own personal Peyton Place. There were too many details she was forgetting. She needed to see if Weevil had furnished the decoy house and learned anything about Ethan Callahan. Check the cameras she'd installed. Ask Pam to get the security footage from the night of Karen's murder. Have that smoke break with Reina. Search the VIP room. Get a look at Sam, Mickey, and Dom.

The last two items on the list posed the same problem. If Sam and his henchmen were sequestered upstairs, getting ready to re-open the VIP rooms, she wouldn't be able to check either off her list. Unless she found a way past the bouncers.

She stripped out of her clothes, tossed them in the hamper, and stepped into the shower for a quick rinse.

The second floor of Shenanigans was guarded. She couldn't just stroll up there without a plan. Dancers were allowed upstairs for two reasons. The private parties— _not happening_ —and to entertain a customer. And, not just any customer. According to Dick, you needed to be a member of the club to gain access to the VIP section. Maybe she was better off trying to sneak up there tomorrow when the club was closed. Even if gaining access did involve the entire Scooby gang.

Turning off the water with one hand, she grabbed a towel with the other, and stepped out of the shower. Logan was leaning against the sink waiting for her. "Ah, my favorite view."

Veronica rolled her eyes, and wrapped the towel securely around her body. "Wyatt only wanted one story?"

"Sure"—he smirked—"she went right to sleep, pigs started flying, and you now hate ice cream." He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and hooked a finger in the top of the towel. "Partner and your dad interrupted story time, so I let them take over for the nightly reading of the book-that-shall-not-be-named."

"Ugh, that abomination. I swear Sandra Boynton hates me."

"Possible." His knuckles grazed her cheek. Ducking his head, he kissed her neck and moved closer, molding his body to hers.

"You're going to get wet."

It was a mild protest, and one Logan promptly ignored. "Totally worth it."

Winding her arms around his waist, Veronica rested her head on his chest. "I have to get ready, or I'm going to be late," she said, without moving from his arms. "On your way to the club, can you ask Pam to leave me off the schedule until after midnight?"

With his forefinger under her chin, he tilted her head to see her face. "Where are you going?"

"To Shenanigans." Veronica let go of him and stepped back. "But I need some time before I'm due onstage." She dried off, rehung the towel on the heated rack, and returned to their bedroom with Logan following in her wake. "I want some face time with Sam Carlucci."

"Can I dress you in body armor first?"

"Wait, you want me to put clothes _on_? I thought this was your favorite view?"

"It is." His gaze traveled down her body, burning her skin with its intensity. "And I'd like it to remain pristine."

He took a step toward her, and Veronica held up her palm to stop his progress. "Don't start things we can't finish. You have to leave."

With a reluctant nod, he changed direction, heading for the door. At the exit, he paused to glance back at her. "But we'll, ah, _definitely_ finish this later, and"—his smile faded—"please be careful, Veronica."

She crossed a finger over her heart, and watched him leave before rummaging through her dresser in search of clothes. One pair of yoga pants, t-shirt, and sneakers later, she was ready to go. After a brief stop to give Wyatt more goodnight kisses, and a detour to remind Dottie about the alarm, she locked the door behind her and walked down the street to Amber's car.

Located midway between her house and the decoy, the convertible was parked directly under a streetlamp to dispel shadows and eliminate hiding places. Veronica circled around and approached the car from the opposite direction. She settled herself behind the wheel and did a quick check under the dash for a tracker. Finding none, she started the engine and put it in gear. Obviously, the bad guys hadn't cottoned to Amber's "aunt's house" being Pam's hideout. Yet.

She glanced at the house as she drove past. The lights were on, illuminating the gauzy white curtains hung in the front picture window. There were two ladder-back rocking chairs on the porch, an American flag hanging from the post, and a boy's bike leaning against the stair railing. It all looked very homey. Veronica smirked. And Weevil thought he wasn't Martha Stewart.

Traffic was light. She made it to the club on time and sailed through the gate, courtesy of her employee permit. Her unofficial spot was open, but she drove past it and parked in the far corner of the lot, out of the reach of the security lights and cameras. Fingers crossed, this trick would also give her a few minutes to check the outside stairs before Bart came a-callin'.

A stone curb and narrow berm were the only things separating the lot from the edge of the cliff. There was no fence or guardrail; obviously the view trumped safety. Veronica stayed on the pavement and followed the Belgian block to the back of the mansion, stopping before the circle of yellow halogen. She stepped onto the grassy berm, looked down at the ocean. There was no path to the beach. No sign of a below-grade room.

"Careful, you don't want to get too close to the edge." His voice came from over her right shoulder. Close. He'd snuck up on her without making a sound.

Veronica turned. "Funny, that's what my boyfriend keeps telling me."

"Boyfriend?" His brows knit together in mock-consternation. "Does your husband know about him?"

"Totally - they're cool with sharing."

"Then they're both idiots." His gaze conducted a slow perusal of her body. "If you were mine, I'd never share."

"Gee, possessive much?" She grinned. With a quick glance toward the back door of the club and the silhouette of Bart, she crossed over the curb to join Logan on the blacktop. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Keeping an eye on you, miss-I-need-some-time-before-I'm-due-onstage." He frowned. "I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't look for the dumbwaiter without me?"

"That's not what I'm doing." Disbelief raised his eyebrows, and in response Veronica folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin to glare at him. "It was just a little peek."

Logan smiled. It was one from his 'I know my wife too well' collection. "Well, you're missing your chance to confront the dangerous mobsters. Sam's inside with both Mickey and Dom - they went into Joey's office about ten minutes ago, and they haven't come out yet."

"Way to bury the lede, Echolls." She started for the club and stopped. "You go first; I'll be along in a minute."

He opened his mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. With a stiff nod, he did as she asked. Veronica tracked his path across the lot-watched him exchange a few words with Bart and then disappear inside. She waited for a count of ten before following.

"Hey, Bart."

The mountain man grunted a greeting, his lips twisting into something Veronica chose to interpret as a smile. He was definitely warming up to her, but she doubted Wallace had anything to worry about in the best-friend department. She breezed through the door.

Siobhan was in the hallway, leaning on the wall outside the dressing room, wearing only thigh-high leather boots and a see-through mesh tube dress with nothing underneath. Her auburn hair was down, curled into tight Nicole Kidman spirals. Head bent, she was staring at her phone, not paying any attention to Veronica's arrival.

"Slow night?"

"It's not bad," Siobhan answered without looking up from her screen. "For a Wednesday."

"I wanted to tell you…" Veronica paused, giving Siobhan a chance to tear her gaze away from the cell. "I was sorry to hear about your friend Karen." The other woman nodded in acknowledgement, and Veronica asked, "How are you doing?"

"With what?" She blinked. "Oh, you mean with Karen's death." Now that she had an audience the phone was forgotten. "I'm just devastated; we were like _sisters_."

Veronica nodded, sympathetic. "Did you know each other a long time?"

"Ages. She answered my ad for a roommate, and once she moved in, we were instant besties- double-dating, borrowing each other's clothes… I got her the job here, you know. Before that she was working this divey club by the airport."

"That was super nice of you." Veronica managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"I know, right? And she really loved the place, until—"

An opening door and loud conversation cut off whatever she'd been about to say. Veronica turned around. A man with salt-and-pepper hair, a slight widow's peak, and an expensive suit was framed inside the doorway to Joey's office. As he exited, the tall guy behind him said, "I'm gonna head upstairs, Boss, unless you need something else?"

His use of the word 'boss' clued Veronica in to the man's identity. Mister-expensive-suit was none other than Sam Carlucci. "Go ahead, Mick. Dom and I will take care of the other assignments."

Mick bowed his head, acknowledging the dismissal, and a wavy lock of russet hair fell across his forehead; he used a meaty hand to push it back in place. He was a big guy, dwarfing Sam by at least six inches. Veronica could definitely make a case for them being the duo Millie saw leaving Karen's apartment.

A soft _hey_ from Siobhan was ignored by Mick as he walked past her on his way down the hall. "Rude," she muttered before focusing on Veronica. "Uh, don't you think it's time for you to get ready?"

The cool bitchy tone was designed to impress… exactly no one. Veronica stood her ground, refusing to budge. "I have time." To emphasize the point, she dropped her bag at her feet, and leaned against the wall. She wasn't going to leave until she set eyes on Dom, _and_ watched him interact with Siobhan. Would he ignore her too? Was he keeping his relationship with the dancer a secret from his uncle?

Veronica stole another glance of Sam Carlucci. She doubted he missed much. Even if his nephew _was_ trying to hide his affair with Siobhan, odds were Sam knew about it.

The subject of her thoughts looked in her direction, his pale-blue gaze assessing her appearance. It was a little disconcerting. Veronica felt sure he had no problem imagining her naked and evaluating her value as a stripper. But it was hard to tell. _And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes._ Veronica gave a mental head shake. Maybe Weevil was right and she watched too many movies.

"What's the new guy's name again?" The question was asked from within the confines of Joey's office. Veronica guessed the speaker was her last evil henchman, Dominic Carlucci.

"Logan." Hearing Joey identify her husband made Veronica's mouth go dry. She swallowed, hard, as Joey added, "He's Pam's _friend_."

"Got it," he said, slipping past Sam to exit the office. Based on looks alone, the only thing Dom shared with his uncle was a last name. His features were classically handsome - an oval face with a slim straight nose and square jaw. As tall as Logan, but not as broad or muscled, Dom was sit-behind-a-desk-all-day soft. He smiled at Siobhan, making twin dimples appear in his cheeks, and then half-turned to face Sam. "I'll get Gio to man the security room and put the new guy on the stairs."

"And make sure the installer uses the balcony entrance."

"I already told Bart." A hard stare from Sam and Dom lost his smile. "I'll tell him again."

Sam stepped back into Joey's office and closed the door in his nephew's face. Maybe all mobsters were rude. Too bad Veronica couldn't have them arrested for poor social graces.

"Are you going on soon?" Dom's question was directed at Siobhan.

She checked her phone before answering. "In like fifteen minutes. Are you gonna watch?"

"Sure thing, babe."

 _Babe?_ Veronica inwardly cringed. Note to self, terms of endearment sounded way less endearing when uttered by skeezy criminals. She picked up her bag. "I better get ready."

They ignored her, moving closer together to finish their conversation in hushed whispers. Veronica shuffled past them and pushed open the dressing room door. From the corner of her eye, she watched Dom head into the club with Siobhan in tow.

The dressing room was in full swing. Dancers in various states of undress were teasing hair and putting on makeup. Conversation was loud. Veronica checked the schedule; she wasn't on the board until twelve-thirty, on the main stage. Her gaze found Pam to communicate a silent _thank you._

Pam was across the room, standing in front of an open locker, naked and talking to Reina. She wasn't trying to hide herself, or cover her body. There was no self-conscious fidgeting. She laughed at something Reina said, then leaned closer to reply, completely at ease with her nudity. Her relaxed attitude reminded Veronica of a passage from Logan's journal. Not the exact words, but the sentiment - how he found her bold confidence sexy.

Frowning, Veronica turned away and crossed the room to her own locker. She kept assuring herself this wasn't a competition. That she was NOT jealous of Pam, or of Logan and Pam's past. But the denial was starting to crumble. She could've done as Logan suggested and let HIM go undercover alone. He could've planted bugs, brought home security footage. Even if that hadn't worked, she could've gotten a job at the club waiting tables. While the outfits were still skimpy, she wouldn't have needed to get naked for strangers. But, no, she just HAD to pretend to be a stripper.

Was she trying to prove something? To herself? Logan? And what exactly did she think needed proving? That she could be as bold and confident as Pam? Logan already found her sexy. In ratty old pajamas covered in mysterious baby-stains, exhausted from round-the-clock feedings, with matted hair and an ill-temper, Logan STILL looked at her as if she were the most desirable woman he'd ever seen. So what was her issue?

"Hey Amber," Bridget said, joining her at the lockers. "I didn't think you were coming in till later?"

"Change of plans. What's going on here?" The question was designed to get her chatting and it had the desired effect.

"Boss man is here tonight; they're getting the upstairs ready to re-open for the weekend crowd, and I think they're putting new security cameras up there?" That would explain the 'installer' Sam mentioned. Bridget took off her robe, shoved it in her locker. "I'm not sure how that's gonna work? Cameras in the private party rooms? Seems counterintuitive, know what I mean?"

Veronica shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be hidden, and they could always be turned off." Putting in security cameras now seemed a little like closing the barn door after the horse has bolted, but better late than never, she supposed. Guess Sam didn't relish the idea of getting robbed again. It was another point in favor of him not being the thief.

"Yeah, I guess, but the muckety-mucks who like the… uh, _personal touch_ , ain't gonna be thrilled by the addition."

"No doubt." Veronica undressed, folded her street clothes and put them in the locker. Tonight's outfit was a pair of black cheekster panties with silver chains across her hip bones and a skimpy push-up top with matching chains over the shoulders. She donned her costume and took a silky robe from her bag, hesitated before putting it on. Screw it. The only one making this a competition was her and she needed to stop. "I see Pam's dancing tonight… does that mean Chloe's still out?"

"She quit."

Rats. Chloe was the only one who had showed any real emotion over Karen's death and Veronica had been hoping to talk to her. Siobhan claimed to be her 'bestie', but Veronica thought the role of Karen's best friend might have been filled by someone else. She'd have to get Chloe's personnel file from Pam and pay her a visit at home.

Veronica slipped a cigarette and lighter into her robe pocket, then carried her makeup bag to the counter. Bridget took the seat next to her. "I don't know if she quit 'cause of Karen… or Joey. He's gonna start looking for a new girl for the parties, and he likes blondes." Bridgett tugged a lock of Veronica's hair for emphasis. "So try to stay away from him for a few days, okay?"

"Will do." Veronica used a flat brush to apply her foundation. Conversation with Bridget didn't involve much effort. A few _uh-huhs_ and _mmm-hmms_ were all the input she needed to keep talking-Pam's description of her as 'chatty' was an understatement. Veronica picked up her Beauty Blender sponge to work the foundation into her skin.

Eleven original suspects. Obviously, she could eliminate Karen as the thief. And Pam. Realistically, she could probably remove Sam from the list too. Ditto for the low-life drug dealers, considering they'd be idiots to steal from Carlucci. But she'd still talk to Weevil tomorrow to see if he'd made any progress on Ethan Callahan.

Veronica dusted powder over her T-zone, added blush to her cheeks, and then started on her eyeshadow, while Bridget continued her tale about one of her generous regulars. "—doesn't even try to touch me. Five hundred bucks just to watch HIM get naked and do his thing."

 _Eww_. Veronica threw in an obligatory, _hmm_ to show she was listening, and brushed her eyelids with shimmer powder.

So where did that leave her? Eleven down to five. Dom and Michael and the three dancers - Siobhan, Lacey, and Reina. Veronica checked the mirror for the latter's whereabouts. Still at her locker talking to Pam, but she was now stage-ready in a sculpted red bodysuit with strategic triangle cut-outs, thigh-high stockings, and a pair of acrylic heels. It was almost time for her before-performance cigarette.

Veronica rolled the tube of mascara in between her palms. Reina made the most money. Granted, she was supplementing her stripper income with prostitution, but would she turn down an extra two hundred grand? And was she one of the dancers indulging in the party coke? If she was using the stuff, maybe she didn't need to know how to sell it? Maybe she would keep the stolen kilos for her own enjoyment?

Reina shut her locker. That was Veronica's cue. She tossed the mascara in her bag. "I'll be right back, Bridge; I'm going for a quick smoke." Timing her departure, she cut in between Reina and Pam. "Mind if I join you?" Veronica asked, withdrawing the cigarette and lighter from her pocket and showing them to Reina.

"Knock yourself out." She pushed through the door without holding it for Veronica, unconcerned whether she was coming or not, and headed straight for the exit.

Her single-minded quest for nicotine gave Veronica a chance to stop Pam from joining them. She held up a staying hand and shook her head. It was enough for Pam to get the message. She stopped short of the threshold and turned to go back inside, but not before Veronica caught the brief flash of dismay on her face.

There was no time to analyze the expression. She rushed after Reina, who was already in the parking lot lighting her cigarette. A deep inhale of smoke and on the exhale she asked, "So what's shaking, Bart?"

"Same old, same old, Miss R."

Was that an actual sentence? Great. It was just her luck for Bart to turn _chatty_ now when she'd been counting on him NOT interrupting her talk with Reina. Veronica lit her own cigarette, refrained from grimacing at the taste.

"Where's Pam?" Reina asked, jerking her chin toward the entrance.

Veronica shrugged. Better to play dumb than lie and get caught in it. "You've known her a long time, right? From back in Vegas?"

"Yeah… you, too. Reno, was it?"

"She helped me out." It wasn't a direct confirmation, but the answer had Reina nodding. Veronica took another puff. She _should_ steer the conversation to Shenanigans, the party, and Karen, yet she found herself unwilling to let the topic of Pam end. "Did she ask you to move to California with her?"

Reina laughed. "Hardly, she cut ties with her old life before the ink was dry on her new one. Not that I blame her, but… I was, let's call it shocked, when she called me about working here." Turning her head, she blew a cloud of smoke toward the ocean. "What about you? Pam stay in touch with _you_?"

The question felt vaguely insulting. Veronica mentally crossed her fingers and stole Logan's history with Pam for her answer. "We talked off-and-on and then like five, six years ago, she just vanished." She faked another pull of her cigarette. "I'm guessing it was because of Tyler?"

Before Reina could answer, a voice squawked from Bart's earpiece. He pressed the click-to-talk microphone pinned to his jacket and started walking toward the front of the mansion. "On my way, boss."

While watching him double-time across the lot, Veronica tried to think of a way to get the conversation back on track. Reina beat her to it. "Have you met him? Pam's son, Tyler?"

Veronica glanced over her shoulder, pretending to check for eavesdroppers, and then lowered her voice. "They're staying with me." The confession was a calculated risk. Even if Reina was involved in the theft, sharing Pam's supposed whereabouts wouldn't put her in any danger. Well, any _more_ danger. Now though, Veronica could watch Reina and see if she passed the information to anyone.

"He's a good kid," Reina said, sounding surprised by the fact. "I don't know what I expected, considering…" A rueful smile. "But you know, shit happens." She flicked her cigarette across the lot. It hit the bumper of a car with a shower of sparks and landed on the asphalt. "Want another one?" she asked, shaking a fresh cigarette loose from the Marlboro soft pack.

"No, thanks. Still working on this one." To emphasize her point, Veronica took another puff from the Honeyrose. "Did you work at the casino with her?"

Reina shook her head. "We danced together—a full-nude bar far off the strip—had this joint routine on a queen-size bed." Another rueful smile. "We were a big hit."

 _I'll bet_. "But you stayed friends after she started working at Caesar's?"

"Yeah. Pam's real easygoing, non-judgy, and she looks out for her friends- know what I mean?"

That description synched with the Pam from Logan's journal, and lined up with his saying, 'our relationship was easy.' Veronica nodded her agreement. "What about her boyfriend?" She managed to say the word without choking on it. "Do you know him too?"

"Logan? Not as well as I'd like to." She touched her shoulder and then waved her fingers as if she'd been burned by the heat, letting out a soft _woof_. "That's one fine piece of man."

Veronica unclenched her jaw and took a final drag of her cigarette. "Have they been together long?"

Reina shrugged. "Off and on for years. I met him once—maybe twice—when he was in Vegas visiting Pam. He was in the Air Force? Marines? Something like that. Guess it's true what they say, girls date guys who remind them of Dad."

"Tyler kinda looks like him."

An odd expression crossed Reina's face. "Why do you say that?"

"Tall, brown hair, brown eyes - I mean he is Ty's father, right?"

Without answering, Reina tossed away her second cigarette. It sailed through the air, landing in almost the same place as the first, but this time without the fender bank shot. "I should head inside; I'm due on stage soon." She didn't stick around long enough to see if Veronica was going to join her, jerking open the door and disappearing into the club.

As soon as she was gone, Veronica tossed her own cigarette. Reina's abrupt departure was weird. She'd avoided answering the question of Tyler's paternity by ignoring it. Why? Did she know Logan was Tyler's father and Pam had sworn her to secrecy? Maybe she didn't know, and just didn't want to gossip about her friend? Or maybe all of Pam's actual friends knew who Tyler's father was and Veronica had just blown her cover?

Too late to do anything about it now.

The intense darkness of the parking lot crowded in, reminding Veronica she was out here alone, and almost naked. She hustled inside with a sudden desire to find Logan.

Girls were not allowed in the main areas of the club in street clothes, or cover-ups, which meant a detour to the dressing room to ditch her robe. Thankfully, it was mostly deserted, and no one stopped her to chat. She tossed the flimsy silk next to her makeup case on the counter and switched from tennis sneakers to the strappy platforms with neck-breaking heels.

On her way out, she grabbed the long bobby pins and twisted her hair into a haphazard bun as she walked. Dom's earlier, _'put the new guy on the stairs,'_ gave Veronica a direction to head in her search for Logan.

Compared to the weekend, the club wasn't busy. The absence of bachelor parties, and groups of guys enjoying a 'boys' night out', was noticeable. But they were still doing a brisk business at the bar. On stage, Aurora and Silver were recreating the Booty music video, complete with fishnet and stilettos and water. _The way she moves, I know you want her_ , sang as Veronica wound her way toward the front of the mansion.

Being naked in a strip club was the best undercover disguise she'd ever… not worn. No one was seeing Veronica. Their eyes didn't move higher than her chest. She'd guarantee there wasn't a man in here who could pick her out of a line-up.

Well, maybe one.

Logan was stationed in the foyer between the two staircases. He clocked her arrival the minute her heels clacked against the marble floor, but he didn't respond to her smile. Too busy playing the big, scary bouncer. Her smile widened as she approached the first set of stairs.

His reflexes were fast; moving with the grace and speed of a gazelle, he slipped in front of her, blocking her path. "No one's allowed upstairs."

Veronica's head snapped back, eyes searching his face. "Seriously?" The question was answered with a quick nod. "I'll make it worth your while," she teased.

"I'm not going to lose my job for you, Amber"-a dismissive wave- "Now shoo."

Instead of leaving, she took a step closer. "You realize the sooner I solve this, the sooner I can stop stripping, right?" She hissed the words through clenched teeth without losing her smile.

"And do _you_ realize there are possible killers upstairs who won't like you snooping?" His gaze dropped to her skimpy outfit. "You'll just have to come up with a different plan. Preferably one that involves more clothes and your gun."

"Guess I'll just have to find a member who wants the VIP experience." She tapped her chin. "Now who do I know who's rich?"

The muscle in his jaw started to tick. "Don't say Duncan."

"Hmm." She tilted her head as if giving it serious consideration. "Well, his dad _did_ help open the club, so he might be—"

Logan started to say her name, getting as far as the first syllable before remembering where they were, then fell silent. He took a deep breath. "You could always ask—"

"Don't even _think_ about suggesting Dick."


	29. All About the Benjamins

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dick was a definite no for helping her get into the private party room at Shenanigans, but he was perfect for helping with her morning plans. She finished buttoning her jeans and carried her boots into the hall, careful not to disturb Logan. The entire house was still asleep, children included, and she wanted to keep it that way. In her stockinged feet, she crept down the hall to the kitchen for coffee.

She brewed an extra large cup of caffeine, wincing at the loud gurgle of the machine. Crossed her fingers the noise wouldn't wake Pam, who was—Veronica checked the living room—still passed out on the couch. Even after leaving the club early last night, Veronica had only managed four hours of sleep before the alarm woke her, and she _needed_ this coffee too much to wait for a stop at 7-Eleven.

While the Keurig was doing its thing, she got the half-and-half from the fridge, and then wrote a note for Logan: _Gas up the Mystery Machine, I'll be home by one_. It was cryptic enough to not rouse her father's suspicions, but should make sense to Logan. She taped it to his mug.

Veronica doctored her coffee with the required amount of cream and sugar, popped the lid on her travel cup, and hustled for the door, grabbing her messenger bag on the way. She used the quick-exit button on the alarm to avoid disarming and re-arming the system, and waited until she was on the porch to put on her boots.

The BMW was blocked by her father's Toyota, leaving her no choice but to take Amber's car. She walked down the street and approached the vehicle with her usual caution. Still no tracker. Either Amber wasn't on the bad guys' radar, or they'd decided tailing her wasn't necessary since they knew where she 'lived.' Veronica started the engine, put it in gear, and headed in the direction of the freeway.

After staying with Dick for months during her pregnancy with Wyatt, Veronica knew his schedule. Sunday through Wednesday at Breakers, Thursday to Saturday at Sans Souci, and one week a month he was in Los Angeles. For a slacker, he worked more hours than the average person. His schedule was just weird, and organized so he didn't miss the sand and surf.

At this time of day, the drive to Sans Souci took less than an hour.

Dick's Hummer was in its reserved spot. A surfboard carefully protected in a day bag was strapped to his roof rack. He'd probably already been out on the water since, like Logan, his favorite time to surf was sunrise. Veronica circled around to the beach and the entrance that led directly to Dick's office.

The door was propped open wide, allowing the sound of the waves and briny smell of the ocean to keep Dick company while he worked. He did a double-take when he saw her. "Ronnie?" He frowned. "Is everything okay? Did something happen to Logan? The girls?"

He started to rise, and Veronica waved him back into his seat. "No need to panic, everyone's fine." She glanced at her travel mug. "Except me, I could use some more coffee?"

If possible, he looked even more worried that she was here without reason. Veronica grinned. He'd finally learned to instinctively fear her. "Uh… sure." Standing, he raked a hand through his salt-stiff hair. He was still dressed for the beach - board shorts, a pair of Wally's on his feet, and a t-shirt that read, _Today's Forecast: Surfing with a chance of Drinking_. "There's some in the kitchen... and, uh, Mitch is making eclairs."

Fear, plus a delectable pastry bribe-Veronica fully supported this behavior. She followed him from the office. The kitchen was busy; prep lists were tacked at each station, and everyone was busy slicing, dicing, peeling, and deboning. Brad, the sous chef, paused his chopping to ask, "Looking for the par sheets, Chef?"

Dick shook his head. "No, just coffee." He moved down the line, pausing twice to check on the work being done. Veronica resisted the urge to tap her foot and check her watch; she was on a schedule here, but she _was_ interrupting Dick's day, so it would be rude to complain - right? "Take it easy, Rons, dessert's coming."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but I can feel you glaring at me." Dick increased his pace, making a sharp left and pushing through a swinging door. He grabbed the edge before it slammed in her face. "Hey Mitch, your favorite foodie is here."

The pastry chef had his own mini-kitchen. Dick claimed it was because his ego was too big to share the main one, but Veronica didn't care what the reason as long as he kept baking perfection. She eyed the tray of eclairs.

Mitch huffed at being interrupted, but a genuine smile spread across his face at the sight of Veronica. "Finally! A person who appreciates my talent." He pulled out a stool. "Here, sit. Sit." His hands fluttered over the seat. "I'm serving these as a trio."

Veronica watched him select three pastries and arrange them on a plate. "They look great."

He flushed at the compliment. "You need to eat them in this order. First this one, it's infused with tonka beans and has a Madagascar vanilla whipped cream. Then the salted caramel, and—"

"She wants to eat them, Mitch, not hear their origin story," Dick said, taking Veronica's travel mug and crossing to the samovar at the end of the counter. After removing the cup's lid, he flipped the spigot on the urn and refilled it. "And she needs to tell me what she wants, because I'm sure it's not the pleasure of my company or your desserts."

This was true; she wasn't here for the eclairs, but at least she could enjoy them. Veronica took a healthy bite of the choux, savoring the rich vanilla cream and the notes of caramel and dark honey provided by the tonka bean. Her loud _mmm_ had Mitch nodding in satisfaction.

"See?" He arched a haughty brow at Dick. "I told you."

"They're still illegal." At the reminder, Mitch tossed up his arms in frustration, and stalked from the room. Dick flipped him off. "Moody prick." He got cream from the fridge and set it down in front of her with the coffee. "What can I do you for, Ronnie?"

"I need a favor." He started shaking his head, but before he could vocalize his protest, Veronica asked, "Do you know anything about Becker's Catering?"

"Sure, they're one of the best off-site caterers in Balboa." He turned to the coffee urn, lifted one of the bone-china cups, and filled it. "You having a party, Ronnie? Because their food is good, but it's certainly not at Dick-level."

"It's for a case." Veronica polished off the eclair, licked her fingers, and then hoisted her messenger bag onto the prep counter. "Have any contacts there? Because"—she pulled out the receipt she'd stolen from Joey's office—"I want to talk to the crew for this event."

"I can call around." Dick studied the invoice.

"Great." Veronica slid off the stool, shouldered her bag. "If you can find someone, we can go over there now." She picked up her plate and coffee, and started for Dick's office. "Are you coming?"

"I can't just leave, Ronnie. I've got food deliveries, and I need to place my fish order for tomorrow, and…"

Veronica let the swinging door close on his words, and found her own way back to his office, confident she'd change his mind. She made herself comfortable in his visitor's chair and kicked her feet up on his desk, balancing the plate in her lap. The second eclair went down as smoothly as the first, its salted caramel flavor enhancing the lingering taste of the tonka bean.

She'd just taken a bite of the third—coffee-mascarpone cream—when Dick returned. "Are you going to sit here all day?"

"If that's what it takes."

"I don't know how Logan does it," he said, taking his seat behind the desk.

"Nerves of steel." She tapped the phone with the side of her foot. "Now how 'bout you make those calls?"

He caved. Using his computer to access an electronic Rolodex, he clicked through the pages until he found what he wanted, then picked up the phone. It took him four calls, five counting the one he sneaked in to his seafood vendor, to find a contact person at the catering company. Veronica perked up when he got someone on the line.

"Hey man, it's Dick Casablancas." He swiveled his chair and began clicking computer keys. They started talking surfing and Veronica rolled her eyes, making a hurry-up gesture with her hand. Dick ignored her. Eventually, he steered the topic to food, and spent a few minutes bitching about the business. Finally he said, "So I hear you're working for Becker's now?"

There was a long silence. It was frustrating to only hear one side of the conversation. She should've bugged his phone so she could listen to the other end of the call. Hindsight 20/20.

"No, I'm not looking to poach you… unless you're interested? Yeah, there's always room for someone with your talent." He grimaced, covered the receiver, and mouthed the word 'hack' at Veronica. There was some nodding as he listened to the other person, and then he said, "You guys did this party at a strip club like two weeks ago… yeah, Shenanigans. I want to talk to the crew who did the setup and breakdown." More listening. "Okay cool. Thanks."

Dick hung up. Veronica waited for him to fill her in on the details, but he remained silent, staring at his computer screen. He picked up the stolen invoice, and her patience snapped. "Are you going to tell me what he said?"

Instead of answering, he asked his own question. "How many people were at this party, Ronnie?"

"What difference—" Abruptly she stopped talking, dropped her feet to the floor, and stood. She joined him on his side of the desk.

The caterer's website was open; he'd navigated to the 'menus & pricing' page, and was reading through the appetizer selections. Their prices were reasonable. An à la carte option let you choose your own apps for $10.00 per person for 100 guests, or $599.00 for 40 guests. Veronica frowned at the invoice. Shenanigans was charged five thousand dollars for the party.

The invoice was definitely hinky. "It was eleven people."

Dick pulled over his adding machine, tried to make the numbers work based on the food choices, and couldn't do it. "Dude, they were seriously overcharged."

"Ya think." Veronica took the bill from him, returned it to her messenger bag. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she had some ideas, and she'd need to revisit Joey's office to confirm. "So is your friend going to put you in touch with the crew from the party?"

"It was only two guys, and they're both scheduled to work today; Gavin said we could stop by in an hour or so when they open."

"You're driving." Veronica put the empty plate on his desk blotter, grabbed her bag and coffee and moved to the open door to wait for him. "Come on, times-a-wastin' - I want to get there before they do." She didn't want Gavin talking to them without her.

Reluctantly, Dick fished his keys from the center drawer. "I'll meet you out front. I have to tell Brad to supervise the deliveries."

"Okay." She started to leave, then turned back. "And can you bring one of those pan carrier things? The kind you used for our New Year's party?"

"Should I fill it with food first? Are you gonna want a snack for the drive?"

"Ha-ha." She toed the wedge out from beneath the exterior door, letting it slam shut behind her, and retraced her path to the parking lot. Leaning against the Hummer to wait for Dick, she stared out at the beach.

There was no Logan in uniform waiting for her at the end of the aisle, but she could conjure the visual without much effort. It had been a perfect day. No regrets. Even with Pam's arrival and the looming possibility of Tyler being his son, she'd marry Logan again, right now, and still have no regrets. This life with him and their girls was the one she'd chosen, the one she'd keep choosing, no matter how rough the road, because it gave her sanctuary.

Dick exited the restaurant, black pan carrier in hand. He'd changed into a pair of khakis, covered his t-shirt with a blue button-down, and donned a pair of Aviators. "What do you want this for anyway?" He set the carrier at her feet. "Something kinky?"

"Yes, Dick," she deadpanned. "We need the extra height." Veronica grabbed the top handles and hoisted the thing into the backseat of Amber's convertible, ignoring Dick's _bow chicka wow wow_ sound effects. "When we get to the catering hall, this is what I want you to do."

"It's not so much a 'hall' as a hole-in-the-wall."

"Whatever." She climbed into the passenger seat, waited for Dick to join her in the SUV, and then continued. "Ask them about the party-pretend you're doing an event for the boss, and you want the inside scoop. See if you can find out whether they know someone who works there."

"Aren't _you_ supposed to be the detective?"

"And you're my cutout." With a finger, he pushed up his sunglasses to give her a blank stare. Veronica sighed. "An intermediary? A go-between? I don't want them to get suspicious; they have to think this is about catering."

It was slightly risky. If they were unwitting patsies, Dick asking questions wouldn't raise any red flags. But there was always the possibility one or both of them was an accomplice; if so, any talk of the party was bound to make them nervous, _and_ make them pay close attention to Dick and his friend. It could blow her cover, but Veronica was willing to take the chance.

While Dick drove, she played out the scenario. _The catering crew sets up the food, leaves behind a pan carrier. During the party 'entertainment' when everyone's distracted, a dancer stashes the coke and cash inside and then after_ … Veronica frowned. Logan said no one had been in or out of the VIP rooms except Sam. "So how did they get their equipment back?"

"Huh?"

"After the party, find out if they went to Shenanigans to pick up their stuff; and if they did, was anything weird about the trip."

"Uh, sure, Rons," he said, humoring her request.

Veronica slumped in her seat, turning her head to stare out the window. She fiddled with the seatbelt, pulling it from the retractor and letting it go. This entire trip might turn into a colossal waste of time. She'd been imagining chafing dishes and silver platters, but it could've been disposable flatware and plastic trays - all of it thrown away at the end of the night.

Dick took the freeway exit for Friar's Road, heading east, and traffic slowed to a crawl. It gave her a long time to study their destination. Located inside a strip mall, Becker's was squeezed between a Jack-in-the-Box and a dive bar named Merrymakers. Good thing they were an off-premises caterer, because their building didn't exactly scream luxury venue. Dick pulled the Hummer into a spot alongside one of their white-panel delivery vans.

They got out and approached the building, Veronica letting Dick take the lead. When he pushed open the plate-glass doors, the woodsy smell of barbecue rushed out to greet them. She inhaled the spicy scent of slow-roasting meat, tasting the garlic, pepper, and cumin on her tongue. Maybe Gavin would let them sample the food while they talked?

The inside was certainly set up for food tasting.

A dining table for six stood to their left, with a basket of linen samples and a tray of flatware on its surface. Shelves on the wall offered a selection of stemware, and a video monitor was running a montage of their past events. In the rear of the space two glass doors led to offices—the same Becker's logo from their vans was etched into the frosted panes—and a stubby folding table was set to mimic a buffet with a white damask cloth and a variety of chafing dishes.

An elegant blonde in an Ann Taylor sheath dress and blazer exited one of the offices with a bright smile. "Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Gavin Rocha. I'm Dick—"

"—Casablancas," she finished. "The chef with the best seafood risotto I've ever tasted." They shook hands. "Gavin said you were coming. He'll be out in a minute; he's just starting the briskets. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Your secret dry rub recipe?"

She flushed with pleasure. "Only if you tell me what's in the glaze you use on your lamb."

Veronica fervently wished they would both stop talking about food, they were making her hungry. She was saved the humiliation of begging for a taste of the barbecue by the arrival of Gavin. He was easy to identify; his name was embroidered on the right shoulder of his uniform. Short and lanky with gelled hair and a nose ring, Gavin looked like a teenager. He'd tried to disguise his baby face with a scraggly beard, but it wasn't working.

"Hey, man." Gavin bumped fists with Dick.

The blonde glanced at Gavin, lips pursing as if tasting something sour. "I'll leave you to talk." Turning her attention back to Dick, her full-wattage smile returned, and she said, "But stop by my office before you leave?"

Dick nodded his assent, and then watched her walk away, eyes on her ass. Gavin shook his head. "Don't even think about it bro; she's seriously uptight." He glanced at Veronica, appraising. "Come on, Steve and Eddie are in the kitchen."

Shit. So much for her plan of arriving before them. Veronica followed the men into the kitchen. Introductions all around, a few more fist bumps, and an agreement to talk outside so the guys could smoke.

Once they were settled around a rickety, scarred picnic table, and the guys had fired up their Marlboros, Dick brought up Shenanigans. "The owner wants me to cater a private party"—Steve and Eddie exchanged a look—"and I want to know why they stopped using you. Did something happen at your last event?"

Veronica hated to admit it, but she was slightly impressed. Dick managed to cut right to the chase without putting them on guard. Steve shrugged. Both he and Eddie were of the same type, average bros who would blend into the background. Nothing about them stood out, they were highly forgettable. The kind of faces you wouldn't be able to recall five seconds after leaving their presence.

"It was a regular gig." This from Eddie. "We set up a buffet and we left."

"Don't forget the smokin' hot chick," Steve added, and both men grinned.

"Yeah, sexy redhead with legs… man, a guy could fantasize about those legs for days." He laughed. "And I have." He sucked on his cigarette. "Think her name was Pam?"

At the mention of Pam's name, Dick shifted in his seat, casting an uneasy look at Veronica. Her eye twitched. What did he expect her to do? Get all pissed because once again, it was ass slaps and high-fives to Logan for banging the hot chick? She directed a pointed nod toward Eddie, signaling he should get on with it.

Taking the hint, Dick asked, "Do you know her?"

"He wishes," Steve said. "She just supervised the setup. Kinda hurried us along like we still couldn't be there when the guests arrived, you know? It was all, 'that's fine, you can leave that there,' but she tipped big so..." He shrugged.

"Know anyone else who works at the club?"

It was going to get weird if Veronica didn't say anything. "Someone we could talk to—get a little inside information—before we cater their event?" Her phrasing was intentional to make them think she was in the food business too.

"Nah, that club is outta our league... I don't think neither of us could make it past the bouncer on our best night." Eddie tossed his cigarette in a sand-filled coffee can, and stood, signaling the end of their conversation.

"Did you deal with Pam when you went to breakdown after the party?"

Eddie started shaking his head. "We didn't go back, man. Some guy called here… that night? Day after? Said he'd bring our stuff in- didn't want us to waste our time, driving all the way out there."

Veronica sat up straighter. "Was anything missing?"

"Don't know, he never showed. Helga-the-horrible bitches about it, like every day." He elbowed Steve. "Speaking of Helga, we should go in before she comes looking for us."

The possibility set them all in motion. Eddie wrenched open the kitchen door, while Gavin scrambled off the bench and Steve tossed his cigarette butt.

"Hey," Veronica said, slowing them down. "Did the guy leave a name? The one who volunteered to return your equipment?"

"Uh…" Eddie scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't ask for one." With his answer, the three men disappeared inside the building, letting the heavy steel door bang closed behind them.

It was disappointing, but not a complete waste. She could rule the caterers out as accomplices, but maybe their equipment was still in play? How would that work? The thief couldn't just stash the stolen goods in the pan carrier and cross their fingers no one would check. They'd need to have prior access—

Dick jingled his keys at her. "Are we leaving or what?"

"You mean you _don't_ want to stop by the cool blonde's office before we go?" She freed herself from the picnic table.

"It's like you don't know me at all, Ronnie. Dick doesn't date horrible." He rounded the dumpster, and started walking down the narrow alley behind the buildings.

"Really? Because, as I recall, Madison was pretty awful," she said, trudging along after him.

"I've matured since then."

"So… what's that make you, like twelve now?"

Ignoring her dig, he stepped over a flattened cardboard box, kicked away an empty beer can, and exited the passageway. They were around the corner from the parking lot; Dick hooked a left. "Any more stops we need to make, or can I go back to work now?"

"I'm good." Veronica speed-walked to catch up with him. "Uh… thanks for helping me with this."

"Did I have a choice?" He pulled the Aviators from his shirt pocket and put them on before unlocking the doors to the Hummer. "Why do you care about the food anyway?"

Veronica waited until they were in the car to answer. "I was hoping one of them was in on the theft and they used the catering equipment to smuggle out cash and drugs."

"Those two?" He laughed. "Time to find a new theory, Ronnie."

Not necessarily. It was still plausible the thief had chosen _something_ innocuous in which to hide the stolen goods. A hundred grand and five kilos of coke didn't just walk out of the party on their own. She used the return drive to Sans Souci to mull over the idea, and parted ways with Dick in the restaurant parking lot. She considered making him take the pan carrier from Amber's car, but changed her mind. A choice she regretted, as it mocked her _and_ her ideas silently through the rearview for the entire ride home.


	30. Curious Thing

CHAPTER THIRTY

The house was a cacophony of noise, making Veronica want to turn tail and run back to the quiet of the car. Partner's barking was mixed with squeals of laughter and running feet. Conversation flowed from the kitchen amid the clanking of pots and pans. Bailey was crying. And above all that, Veronica could hear the calliope music and whirring motor of Wyatt's ball popper. She briefly closed her eyes, contemplated hiding in the front hall closet, and then realization dawned.

Keith was still here. With Pam.

She dropped the pan carrier on the bench of the hall tree, tossed her bag on top, and hustled for the kitchen. What happened to work ethic? Keith and Partner should've been long gone before Pam woke up, and why weren't Dottie and the kids safely on their way to Legoland?

"Mama!" Wyatt called from beneath the coffee table, halting Veronica's progress. She was clutching one of the red plastic balls from her infernal toy. The toy, which was still spitting balls from an elephant trunk, and making Partner crazy.

"Hey, sweet pea." Veronica knelt on the floor. With one hand she found the off button for the elephant, and with the other she scratched behind Partner's ear. "Whatcha doin?"

"Catch!" Wyatt scrambled from under the table and threw the red ball. Partner immediately gave chase, colliding with Tyler who was carrying a bucket of legos. Dog, child, and plastic bricks all went flying. Veronica's eye twitched.

The dog licked Tyler's face in apology and then continued his pursuit of the ball. "Are you okay?" Veronica asked, standing and crossing the room to Tyler.

"Uh-huh." He didn't even look up, too busy scooping handfuls of Legos.

Taking him at his word, Veronica kept going. It was a full house in the kitchen. Jake, Dottie, and Pam were at the table, all with cups of coffee, and Pam was eating a poached egg on a slice of toast. Logan was at the island cutting a tomato into slices, and Keith was walking Bailey while trying to feed her a bottle. The baby was having none of it, flailing her arms and screaming.

"What happened to the amusement park idea?" Veronica asked the room as she took Bailey from her dad. "Ssh, Rabbit, it's okay." She turned the baby over, gently folded her arms against her tiny chest, and started to bounce. The howling subsided. "I thought you'd be knee-deep in Duplo blocks by now."

Logan smirked. "They were trying to bribe Jake into staying here with Bailey, and she wasn't exactly winning him over."

"Really?" Veronica kissed the baby's head. "What deterred you? The yelling and crying, or her dramatic moods and mean right cross?" She turned Bailey, lifting her higher so they were face-to-face. "See, I told you to go easy on him, kid."

The baby kicked her legs, and babbled. "Ah, ah, ah."

"I didn't say no exactly," Jake said, picking up his coffee. "I just suggested that we ALL go to Legoland together."

"Which was a cheap ploy we saw through the instant you said it." Logan finished arranging the tomato slices on the BLT he was constructing. "No shame, man. Just because you were defeated by a little baby, doesn't mean we're judging you."

Jake flipped him off.

"It's okay"—Dottie patted her son's arm—"You'll get the hang of it once you have your own."

Before the conversation devolved into another discussion of Jake settling down, Veronica said, "Well, I'm going to go feed the tiny hellion while you draw straws to see who gets stuck with her afterwards." She snuggled the baby close, and nuzzled her neck. "Just kidding, Rabbit."

Keith clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. I'll put Partner in the yard and help you round up the kids." With a strained voice he added, "Then you can go to Legoland, and I'll stay with my granddaughter."

As Dottie started to protest, saying it was _fine_ if they all went, Veronica left the room. So, apparently, Jake had suggested Keith be included in their plans, or Keith had decided to invite himself along. And, either way, Dottie wasn't happy. _Hmm_.

She carried Bay into the nursery. Again, Pam had made sure to clean up after herself- deflating and storing the air mattress in its bag, and neatly folding her bedding. A considerate houseguest, or a lasting effect of a childhood spent living with strangers while her father was deployed?

Logan slipped into the room, carrying a plate and a bottle of water. "You didn't take your sandwich." He set the BLT and drink on the table next to the rocking chair. "When you snuck out early this morning, I figured you'd skipped breakfast."

"Actually, Dick fed me eclairs, but you know I'll never say no to bacon." Veronica smiled. "So thank you."

He arched an eyebrow. "Dick?"

"About way high"—she held her hand, palm facing down, level with Logan's head—"dopey, blond surfer type you insist on keeping as a friend?" His brows knit together, clearly not amused by her evasion. Unbuttoning her shirt, she sat in the rocker. "I asked him to help me interview the caterers from the party."

"Learn anything?"

"Nothing helpful." She unsnapped her bra, and repositioned the baby. Bailey needed no further encouragement, latching on like she hadn't eaten in days and was super pissed about it. Veronica stroked her cheek. "I see my dad and Dottie are still fighting; what do you think's going on there?"

"Lianne," Logan said, taking a seat on the ottoman. "Apparently, your father's seen her more than a few times since she's been back in town."

"Why?" Veronica frowned. "And more importantly, how do you know?"

"Jake told me." He touched her face, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "She's been sober for a while now, and she's here to make amends with your father… and you."

"Not happening."

His troubled eyes searched her face. She knew he wanted to say something, but he remained silent, which was very unlike him. Normally, Logan had no problem telling her the hard truths or discussing the unpleasant. It was a little unsettling- this quiet. But it also didn't take a genius to guess at his thoughts. He'd probably sacrifice a lot for a second chance with his mother.

Veronica navigated the conversation back to safer waters. "Is Dottie jealous? Because she doesn't have a reason to be."

"You mean she should just be secure in her relationship and not let the arrival of an ex bother her?" He tapped his finger alongside his mouth. "Interesting concept."

Not safer waters. AT ALL. She opened her mouth to call him on it. To tell him she wasn't insecure, and this had very little to do with Pam, but she didn't feel like rehashing the Tyler argument. Veronica gnawed her bottom lip. The subject of Tyler would lead to the paternity test, and require a confession she wasn't ready to make.

Logan tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighed. "That wasn't fair." He met her gaze. "I'm sorry, Veronica." He touched her face again, and smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip, freeing it from her teeth. "No more snide comments."

She kissed his thumb. "Don't go changing, Echolls."

"Because you love me just the way I am?"

He batted his eyes at her, and she laughed. "Sometimes."

Dropping his hand from her face, he leaned forward to give her a soft kiss. When he pulled back his expression was sober. "I know there's more going on inside that beautiful mind of yours, but you will eventually talk to me, right?"

All the words lodged in her throat. She mutely nodded, and Logan kissed her nose. "Do you want me to put her down?" He touched the top of Bailey's head. At some point during their conversation, the baby had finished eating and drifted off to sleep.

"Sure."

Gingerly, he picked up the baby. Swinging his arms in the same back-and-forth rocking motion as the chair, he carried Bay to the crib, and put her down. His smile was tender as he watched her frown and stretch. When she pursed her lips and started sucking on air, he wiggled a binky into her mouth. "We do good work, Mars."

"And speaking of work…" She finished chewing her bite of sandwich and swallowed. "We should be on our way to Shenanigans."

Logan dragged his attention away from a sleeping Bailey, and nodded. "You finish eating; I'll go supervise the mass exodus." He retrieved the baby monitor from the dresser. "Oh, and I'll do my best to keep Keith away from Pam," he added with a wink before slipping from the room.

The man seriously needed to stop paying such close attention to her machinations. But since there was no point arguing with a closed bedroom door, and he was also _right_ , Veronica settled for another bite of sandwich. She chewed and glared at the tiny giraffes marching across the wallpaper border. Chewed and glared until enough time had passed for the house to be empty.

Taking her dishes with her, she exited the nursery to blissful silence, and headed for the kitchen. Pam was at the sink rinsing out her coffee mug. She looked up as Veronica entered the room, and smiled. "Want me to take those?" she asked, holding out her hands for the plate and glass.

Veronica passed them over. "So who drew the babysitting short straw? Was it my dad, or did he convince Jake to fall on his sword?"

Pam laughed. "Jake couldn't get out of here fast enough." She loaded the dishwasher as she talked. "As soon as your dad volunteered, he leapt from his seat and carried Wyatt to the car."

Noting the absence of her husband, Veronica asked, "Did Logan decide to go with them?"

"Gee _honey_ , don't sound so hopeful." Logan walked in from the living room, carrying a collection of sippy cups and binkies. He dumped the handful of pacifiers into the silverware basket of the dishwasher, and chucked the cups into the sink. "It's like you're trying to get rid of me."

"Never, _darling_. I'm just sure you'd have more fun riding the Coastersaurus than traipsing around after boring old me."

"Veronica Mars boring?" He arched a brow. "Impossible."

"Impossible like today's mission?" Not so much the search of the VIP room, but keeping Logan from sticking to her side. What he needed was an assignment. "When we get to the club, I want you to find a way into the security room. If those new cameras they installed upstairs are online and functional, you'll have to disable them."

"And if there's someone else in the room?"

"Take Pam with you; she can distract them, or better yet…" She turned to Pam. "Can you lure them away? Tell them there's a sketchy character in the parking lot and you need their help to get rid of him?"

Pam's reluctance was evidenced by her frown and hesitant agreement. "I guess, but—"

"Great!" Veronica clapped her hands together. "You two should head out, and I'll be along in a few minutes; I just need to collect a few things." Without waiting for a response, she left the room, compiling the list on the way to her office - lock picks, a LAN tap, camera eyeglasses, earpiece. She frowned.

At the diner on Saturday, Logan had cautioned her against high expectations, warning that if the drugs and cash were hidden in the party room, Sam would've found them by now. But what if he hadn't? What was her plan?

Veronica gathered the stuff she wanted and added it to her messenger bag. For good measure, she folded one of their canvas beach totes and slipped it into the outside pocket, then went in search of her dad. She found him on the back deck, sipping coffee, baby monitor in hand. "I'm heading out."

Keith looked up and smiled. "Back in time for dinner?"

"Depends. Are you making mac n' cheese or chili surprise?" Veronica leaned her head on the door frame.

"Neither. Logan said there are steaks in the freezer; I don't think that man of yours is a fan of the orange powder packet stuff."

"And he doesn't think ice cream is a meal." She sighed. "But what can you do? Everybody has flaws." Veronica broke eye contact, turning to stare at the lawn. "I know you've been spending time with Mom." The word felt foreign to her. In her mind, Lianne was always Lianne-that is, when she'd bothered to think about her at all. Having her mother back in town was going to take some getting used to.

"We've only met a few times for coffee."

 _Why?_ The question hovered on her lips, but remained unasked. Instead she said, "I don't want you to bring her around the girls." Veronica didn't want him showing her pictures either, or talking about them, but those demands were likely to go unheeded. " _If_ she gets to meet them, it's going to be on my terms, and only when I'm ready."

Sadness weighed down his features, pulling his lips into a frown, but he nodded his agreement. "Okay, kiddo."

She left the door to kiss the top of his head. "Cheer up, Pops, there's Butter Pecan in the freezer and Slap Shot is playing on Netflix."

"I'm a man of simple needs."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Just don't eat the entire gallon, old man, or touch any of my chocolate chip cookie dough." To cushion the blow, she patted his shoulder and offered him a smile before leaving.

It probably wasn't needed - her warning to Keith. Veronica didn't think he'd go behind her back to introduce Lianne to Wyatt and Bailey, but why take the chance? Even if she forgave Lianne, accepted her effort to make amends, Veronica wasn't sure she wanted her mother to be a part of her life. Too many times she'd hoped things would be different, only to be disappointed; and she certainly didn't want to expose her daughters to that kind of hurt.

Veronica set the alarm, bypassing the doors to the deck, and left the house.

Lianne was taking up too much space in her head and she had more important things to concentrate on… like finding a thief and a killer. Using the hands-free, she dialed Mac's cell.

"I was just going to call you." Mac's voice boomed loudly through the stereo speakers, prompting Veronica to lower the volume.

"Why? Because you cracked Sam's finances and found something to put him in prison for the next fifty years?" Veronica flicked on her turn signal and waited for the traffic light to change.

"Hardly. His shell game is strong… but I did track down the information you wanted on the club's accountant."

"Anything interesting?" She made the right onto La Jolla.

"Nothing earth-shattering, which you'll see for yourself when you read the email I sent you. Same for that strip club, Plush - it looks completely legit, owned by an LLC, registered with the Secretary of State."

"So no connection to Sam Carlucci." It wasn't a question. If Plush was one of his clubs, it would be lost in the morass of shady companies and not easily traced on paper. "I'm going to text you some names—dancers who quit—see if they're working at Plush. And while you're at it, get me current contact information on all of them."

"I'll do it right after I'm done with the Apple Liquors ATM."

Veronica slowed at the intersection. "There was definitely a camera?"

"Two- one on the ATM itself, and another that belongs to the liquor store. The one on the ATM is motion-activated, so unless someone was withdrawing money at the exact time your bad guy was driving down the street, it's not going to be helpful. Plus it's a closed-circuit and the bank isn't going to give me the stills just because I ask nicely."

"I don't know, Mac, I think you can be pretty persuasive."

"Are you buttering me up for something? Because if you're looking for a babysitter, I have plans tonight." There was a slight pause. "And tomorrow night too. In fact, I'm booked solid for the rest of the week."

"I would believe you except I _know_ you're lying." Veronica made the sharp left, and the car started to climb the bluff to Shenanigans. "Tell me about the other camera."

"It belongs to the store, and it's hooked into their network—which has WiFi. I'm just not sure it's going to give us a view of the street."

"Keep the faith, Mac, and call me when you get the video." Veronica hit the disconnect button and pulled the car to the curb. The personnel files for the former dancers were in the side pocket of her messenger bag. She texted the eight names with their old addresses to Mac, then shut off her phone.

She popped the trunk. Just in case things went sideways inside Shenanigans, it would not be a smart idea for Amber to be carrying this information. Veronica got out of the car and stowed the files under the trunk floor with the spare tire.

Sliding back behind the wheel, she closed the door with one hand, and used the other to put the car in gear. The clock on the dash read one-thirty as she drove up to and through the front gate of the club. There were no auditions today so, fingers crossed, Joey was already gone. She scanned the parking lot. No sign of his Mercedes, and Bart was—thankfully—absent from the employee entrance. Excellent.

She parked in her spot and made her way into the club, heading straight for Joey's office. This time, the door was bolted. She growled in frustration. Not because it was the best lock in the world, but because she had a limited amount of time before Logan would come looking for her, and she did not want to waste it breaking in.

With a glance down the hall, she took out her tool kit, and selected a tension wrench and pick. She slid them into the keyhole. Applying a slight amount of torque to the wrench, she raked the pick over the pins until they aligned, and opened the door.

Painting, credenza, or invoices?

Veronica moved to the desk. The sketchy bill from the caterer was her first real lead in a possible case against Sam, and she didn't want to risk losing an opportunity to nail him to the wall. She donned the black, slim-framed camera glasses, and flipped through the files taking pictures of the most promising invoices.

Sam was hiding his ownership with shell companies, investing in all-cash businesses, and altering invoices to increase costs. Veronica didn't know much about money laundering, but she knew enough to see the patterns.

She removed a thick file labeled 'renovations'. Bills of lading, construction contracts, change orders - it held everything for the conversion of the mansion to a strip club, including invoices for the state-of-the-art sound and security systems, the expensive furnishings, the architect. It was a gold mine. Veronica paused, stared across the room at the Cézanne.

Would Sam miss the file?

Lowering her head, she tapped the frame of her glasses, taking a picture of the pink invoice from Taylor Custom Woodworking. _Installation of custom Brazilian-cherry wood raised wall panels_. The renovation was years ago. Even if they noticed the missing folder, would it raise alarm bells? She shrugged, and shoved the entire thing into her bag. With great risk comes great reward.

Veronica closed the drawer and stood, returning the chair to its place under the desk. She crossed to the painting. It was perfectly positioned inside the square moldings of a raised wall panel. She ran her fingers along the frame.

"Don't trust me?"

"Fuck," Veronica swore, spinning around to see Logan lounging in the doorway. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I could ask you the same thing; I thought we agreed you'd stay away from Joey?" He stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Away from _Joey_ , not his office, and I don't recall actually _agreeing_ to any such thing."

His lips quirked slightly, amused by her defiance. "It was implied."

" _Pfft_ ," she huffed, returning her attention to the painting. "Think it's real?"

"Maybe." He crossed the room to stand next to her. "You know I would've mentioned finding a dumbwaiter behind the painting, right? 'Honey, there's no safe, but you'll never guess what I did find?'"

"Cute - now can you lift it away from the wall for me?"

Logan did as asked, and Veronica ducked beneath the frame. She knocked on the wood panel-a nice, solid-sounding thump. She rapped her knuckles against the adjoining rectangle and heard the same thud. Frowning, she ran her fingers along the seams of the molding, and tried pushing the corners. Nothing budged.

She stepped back, and Logan resettled the painting on the wall, tapping its side to make sure it was straight. "There could be a button," he suggested as he followed her lead, knocking on the panels in search of a hollow tone. "Maybe in the credenza?"

"Possible." If there was a hidden door to the dumbwaiter, was it also a secret from Joey? And if so, would Sam have had something as obvious as a button installed? Good thing she'd decided to take the renovation file - her big reward could be the answer to the mystery. "Okay, let's go check out the VIP room."

He paused, hand raised mid-knock to stare at her. "Did you just _give up_?"

"No, I'm prioritizing." Veronica cracked the door, peered down the hall to make sure it was clear, and offered Logan a thumbs-up before slipping from the office. He was quick to join her. "What's the situation up front look like?" She reached past him to relock the office. "Is anyone watching the stairs?"

"Nico _was_ there talking to Pam when I left to search for you."

She nodded. "Don't worry about him—I'll use the back stairs if I have to. Just find your way into the security office and disable the cameras."

"And what if someone comes in while you're still upstairs? How am I supposed to warn you?"

"Easy." She withdrew an earpiece from her bag, held it up for his inspection, and then inserted the bud in her right ear. "It's set to the same frequency as the guards'. Just use your push-to-talk mic and say 'need assistance in the security room' - I won't be able to respond, but I'll know to amscray, and you can pretend to need help because the cameras aren't working."

"See? Never boring." With a smirk, he gave her a two-finger salute and headed down the hall.

Veronica waited for a count of ten, then followed after him.

The bar area was empty save for two barbacks, busy shelving the liquor from today's delivery and preparing garnishes. Neither of them looked up as she passed. There was an eerie silence to the nearly deserted mansion. It reminded her of a school after the final bell cleared its halls.

She paused on the threshold to the foyer. Both staircases were unguarded. It wouldn't take long for Logan to power down the server, but she couldn't start up the stairs until she got an all-clear. She did NOT want the final image recorded to be of Amber on the way to the VIP rooms.

The door to the security room swung open and Logan stepped out. With a nod to her, he took his position by the entrance, leaning against the wall. From this vantage spot, he'd be able to watch all the exits. Veronica smiled. He was still the best backup a girl could have.

Pam's rudimentary drawings of the club helped Veronica locate the correct VIP room on her first try. It was not what she was expecting. After learning about the party, she'd envisioned the subtlety of Amsterdam's red-light district; instead, the room was understated elegance.

Wool berber the color of toast carpeted the floor, and hand-hewn wood beams crossed the ceiling. In the center of the room, two VIG Chesterfield sofas upholstered in coffee-brown leather faced each other across an oak-plinth coffee table. A stone fireplace, on the far wall, was flanked by French doors leading to the balcony, and two tufted club chairs were angled in front of the hearth.

The only things marring the beauty of the space were the stripper pole and the destruction. Couch seams had been sliced open, pillows were ripped apart, and the carpet had been pulled up from its tacks. On her left, the queen-sized bed had been disassembled. Its mattress had a deep ugly gash down the center, and the plush-top had been peeled back to reveal coils and foam. The box spring had suffered the same treatment.

Veronica moved deeper into the room, taking pictures, her focus on the wood-panel wall to her right, which matched the design in Joey's office. The only difference was, one of the panels on _this_ wall had been slid open, revealing the car of the dumbwaiter. Logan would be happy to know he was right—it did exist—but Sam had obviously searched it, and ruled it out as a hiding place for the missing drugs and money.

She took an up-close photo and leaned inside to study the movable panel. Her hand grazed the molding, and it shifted slightly beneath her fingers. Veronica gave it a harder push and watched the dumbwaiter disappear as the false door glided closed, returning the wall to its solid appearance. _So simple and yet so clever_.

It was tempting to continue playing with dumbwaiter, but the rest of the room still needed to be searched, and she was working with limited time. She walked over to what Pam called a 'credenza', though it was more a buffet with its high legs and glass-fronted cabinets. A tabletop water dispenser with a three-gallon jug sat on one end, and on the opposite side were the pan carriers from Becker's.

All the food was gone and the pans had been washed. Veronica checked the trash bins - emptied. She scanned the walls for air vents. There were two, and they were both high enough to require a stepladder or stool. Not that it mattered, because their grates had been removed, meaning someone had already checked them as possible hiding spots.

Veronica crossed to the fireplace. Kneeling on the hearth, she dug a flashlight from her purse, and shined it up the chimney. Nothing.

Bathroom next. A strong, sour odor assaulted her as soon as she opened the door, and she realized what had happened to the trash. It had been dumped on the floor of the shower so each piece could be examined. Veronica's eyes watered, but she hunched down and poked through it. Beer bottles, used napkins, condom wrappers, aluminum foil, balls of plastic wrap, and discarded food.

She rocked back on her heels. Too bad there were no windows - some fresh air would help combat the smell. At least it was contained in here...but she didn't envy the person who would have to clean.

 _Time to hurry up, Veronica._

She checked inside the toilet tank and behind it, then opened the cabinet under the sink. It held five replacement jugs for the tabletop water dispenser, plus a few rolls of wrapped toilet paper. Finally! Something they'd failed to search. She pulled back the packaging from the top of the roll and peeked inside the cardboard tube. _What do we have here?_

"Need assistance in the security room." Logan's voice rang in her ear.

 _Shit_.

Veronica tossed the toilet paper, dug the LAN tap from her bag, and raced into the main room. She pushed one of the club chairs against the wall, directly beneath the new surveillance camera. It would take a few minutes for the main server to reboot, and Logan would buy her as much time as he could, but she still needed to hurry. She planted her feet on the arms of the chair and then stepped onto the back, hoping the thing wouldn't topple. It teetered toward the wall, but remained upright.

She removed the cable from the back of the camera, snapped it into the jack of the bug, and then plugged the entire thing back into the camera housing.

 _Go, go, go!_

Veronica scrambled off the chair. There was no time to return it to its original position, but she didn't want anyone to look too closely at the altered camera. Grabbing the arm, she dragged it toward the balcony and her exit. She slipped through the French door, locked it behind her, and made a beeline for the exterior stairs. Taking them two at a time, she flew down the stone steps, and skittered around the corner of the mansion, running smack into Dominick Carlucci.


	31. Information

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"What are you doing back here?" Dominick grabbed her arm. The move kept her from falling, but it was tight enough to make her wince.

Veronica offered him her best, flirty smile. "Admiring the view," she purred, suggestively, hoping to defuse the situation.

Dom glanced up the stairs, then at her. "Why were you running?"

"I lost track of time, and I've gotta get my kid from the babysitter." A real-person problem. Veronica hoped it held as little interest for him as it did for the other guys at Shenanigans. "She bitches when I'm late."

His fingers dug into her skin as he manhandled her toward and up the stairs she'd just come down. "Let's check your story."

"Do you want her number?" Veronica asked, as Dom dragged her onto the balcony landing. He checked the first set of French doors, jiggling the handle to make sure they were locked, and then pulled her to the next pair of doors. One after the other, he moved down the line checking each lock. When they reached the last one, Veronica yanked her arm free. "Satisfied?" she asked, rubbing the tender spot above her elbow.

"You're new, right?" At her nod, his gaze raked over her. "Upstairs is off-limits unless you're entertaining a member, or there's a private party. Pam should've done a better job explaining the rules to you."

"It was my fault; I thought that was only inside, not out here." She backed up a few steps, putting some distance between them. "It won't happen again." Veronica turned away and made a break for the stairs.

"See that it doesn't." Dominick called after her retreating figure.

Amber's car beckoned. It would complete her getaway, but she worried Logan would misread her hasty departure for a blown cover. Yet she didn't relish the idea of running into Dom again, especially after telling him she was in a rush. _Should I stay or should I go?_

A glance back at the stairs made the decision for her. Dom was standing on the landing watching her. Veronica waved, keyed open the Audi, and slid behind the wheel.

As soon as she'd driven through the front gate, she found a place to pull over and retrieve her cell. She opted to send Logan a text message: _Had to leave. Errands to run. See you back at the ranch._ Hit send and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, then changed her mind.

Paige and Mac weren't going to get much further with their investigation without an assist from law enforcement. Veronica had already suggested Leo look into the financials for Shenanigans; now it was time to do the same with the FBI. She removed the bud from her ear, scrolled through her contacts and placed a call to Gil.

"Special Agent Townsend."

"So do they teach you that greeting at Quantico? You know, as part of some special 'respect my authoritah' class, or does formal just come naturally to you?"

"It's actually an advanced seminar," he said dryly. "But I'm also gifted."

"Good to know." Veronica smiled, restarted the engine, and put the car in gear.

The bluetooth connected, but the transfer cut off the first part of Gil's sentence. "—you called, because I've been asking around about Sam Carlucci."

"Did you find something new for me?"

"Maybe. The ATF got a call from a Detective—"

There was a brief silence. Veronica assumed he was checking his notes, and decided to save him the trouble. "Detective Kincaid? The lead investigator on the Karen Wittner homicide?"

"Yes… why didn't you tell me one of the dancers at the club was murdered?"

"Uh… this is me calling you, right?" Veronica turned left, merged onto the freeway, and headed inland toward Miramar.

An annoyed sigh hissed through the car's speakers. "Does that also mean you know about the ghost gun?"

"I do, but I'm glad you're all caught up, because now we can move on to other things." She changed lanes to pass a slow-moving Toyota, earning a loud honk from the distracted driver when she cut back into his lane. Veronica flipped him off. "Can you get me banking records for Shenanigans? And for Sam?"

"Not without a warrant." There was a dull _thump, thump, thump_ in the background. It was easy to identify the staccato beat; he was tapping his pen against his desk. Veronica smirked. Someone should really tell him his nervous habit was very revealing. "Why do you want them?"

"I think he's laundering money." She gave him a fast rundown on the shell companies and the invoices. "I'm going to take a closer look at the bills from the renovation of the club, but I'm sure I'll find more of the same."

"Money laundering… hmm… that would buy me a seat at the table."

Veronica frowned at the steering wheel. "Yeah, I'm going to need more than that."

"Of course you are." Gil chuckled. "The ATF is very interested in the ghost gun. They're thinking Carlucci's involved with _gun_ trafficking, and they want to set up surveillance on the club."

"Wish them luck." The sign for the 805 loomed ahead and she ignored it, choosing to stay on the quiet three-lane freeway for the remainder of their conversation. "They can't exactly park a utility van on the street without it being noticed, and you can't even _see_ the club from the road."

"Believe it or not, the ATF and the FBI know how to conduct a stake-out."

"So… we're doing the Corleone wedding scene again? You'll take pictures of cars as they pass through the gate and write down license numbers?" The question was bitchier than intended, but seriously? Did they really think they'd crack an illegal gun-running operation by marking down the plates of pervy strip club customers?

There was another sigh from Gil. "I'll mention the money laundering angle to my boss - see if we can coordinate a joint operation with the ATF."

"And you'll ask him for my banking records?" She took the exit for Convoy Street and followed the road as it wound its way past an RV Super Center.

"I'll see what I can do." 

"Excellent! Just send the copies to my office." Veronica pressed the 'end call' button in the middle of Gil's warning about high hopes, and how she shouldn't have them. Silly rabbit.

She crossed Clairemont Mesa Blvd. and made the left toward Weevil's shop. Nestled between a Public Storage and an industrial-supply warehouse, the grey-brick building blended with its surroundings. Veronica drove onto the fenced-in lot, beneath the sign reading _Navarro Custom Auto._

A row of yucca plants ran the entire length of the shop, interrupted only by the smoked plate-glass doors. She knew they led to the front desk and customer waiting area, but she wasn't interested in making polite chit-chat with Nina's cousin, Renata. Veronica drove past the entrance, and pulled the Audi into a parking spot right at the edge of the lot.

Taking her messenger bag with her, she left the car and walked around to the side of the building. All four rolling-steel doors were opened. Music, laughter, and conversations in both Spanish and English poured from inside. Veronica entered the cavernous space and made her way to the rear bay near the paint booths.

A 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback occupied the space, as it had for the past year. It didn't look great. Still covered in dull grey primer and missing its windshield, headlights, mirrors, and wheels, Veronica wasn't convinced it would be finished in time for Christmas. But at least it finally resembled an actual _car_. She peered through the driver's side window. The interior was better. All the pieces seemed to be in place.

"Impressed?" Weevil asked, approaching the car. At her blank stare, he reached through the open windshield and tapped the steering wheel. "I finally found the Shelby leather-wrapped, three-spoke - a guy up near Bakersfield had it."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Haven't located the Yankee side mirror yet"—he lovingly touched the empty spot on the door—"but I've got a few ideas, and Benny's been calling some shops near the old plant in Dearborn." His eyes lit up. "Oh, and we got a set of Cyclone glasspacks, the same diameter as…" A rueful smile. "And you don't really care, do you?"

"No… but Logan will." She patted the car's roof. "Just don't forget to call, when it's time for me to do more filling and sanding." Her offer turned his smile into a full-fledged grin, and he nodded.

Weevil had shown her how to dip parts in rust inhibitor, how to straighten panels with a hammer and dolly, the importance of quality filler, and the art of block sanding all in the name of sticking to her 'handmade gifts only' edict. He'd also insisted on taking pictures of her hard at work (in oversized cover-alls and safety goggles) claiming photos were an essential part of Logan's gift.

Veronica leaned a hip on the car. "You mentioned Benny - is he working today?"

"He'll be by after school." Weevil directed a pointed look at the Mustang, and Veronica stopped leaning. "I'm gonna teach him how to pull dents," he muttered, eyeballing the door as if she'd just made one with her hip.

Veronica took another step away from the car. "Glad he's still behaving himself."

"Yeah, he's a good kid; he helped me get the furniture for that house of yours." Turning, he checked the work being done on the floor, then jabbed his thumb toward the stairs. "Let's talk."

It had to be important for Weevil to voluntarily spend time in his office. He hated the space. Claimed it was because it represented paperwork and time away from the cars, but Veronica suspected it just reminded him of Jade. Before their divorce, she'd been the one to take care of the inventory and ordering, billing and payroll. Now Weevil had to sit in the custom chair he'd bought for her and handle all that himself.

They climbed the few steps to the elevated space; Weevil pushed through the door ahead of her. His desk was shoved under paned sliding windows overlooking the garage. The _whir-whir-whir_ of an air wrench filtered into the office, and Veronica poked her head out to watch one of the mechanics loosen lugnuts. She turned back to Weevil. "Should I skip the Louie DePalma jokes?"

"You will if you wanna know about Ethan Callahan."

Veronica pressed her lips together and mimed locking them shut.

Weevil's answering smirk said he doubted her ability to remain silent, but he reached past her to close the window, drowning out the sounds of the mechanics. "Your boy's in trouble. Story goes he borrowed some product from his boss and lost it."

"So he's not walking around with big sums of cash." It wasn't exactly a newsflash. She'd pretty much eliminated Ethan and his friends from her pool of suspects, but it was nice to get confirmation. Leave no stone unturned.

"He's definitely not flush; it's actually the opposite - his boss is looking for him and his two buddies to repay the _street_ value of the missing coke." He dropped into his chair. "Wanna tell me how any of this fits into your case?"

"What are the names of his friends? And who's he working for?" Veronica perched on the edge of his desk. "This 'boss' who wants his money back?"

"Nico Benedetti."

All roads may lead to Rome, but apparently all drugs in Neptune led to Nico. It seemed Keith was right and Nico did have the market cornered. But if so, where was Sam originally getting his party coke? Drug-trafficking was on the list of Carlucci's suspected crimes, so maybe he was bringing it up from South America on his own? Maybe he was he looking for a new supplier now because he was giving up on the drug smuggling in favor of guns?

"But they weren't exactly _'working'_ for him," Weevil said, leaning back in his chair. "Least not as dealers. Think grunts—running errands, making deliveries—they were trying to make their bones, move up in the organization."

"Scoring Sam Carlucci as a client would certainly help." Weevil's indifferent shrug reminded her she hadn't given him information about the case, or Sam. Veronica sketched in the details, keeping the focus on Sam's suspected criminal enterprise and the theft from the party, while avoiding any and all mentions of being undercover at the club.

"I don't know, V. Getting in with Carlucci mighta made Nico happy, but not at only twenty grand a key. The missing coke was high-grade white girl, close to a hundred percent pure. Once Nico cut it with something—baby laxatives, talcum powder, chalk—he could've doubled his product _and_ his money."

"It doesn't sound like Ethan's tale of woe is going to have a happy ending." Veronica frowned. "You said street value- how much is he on the hook for?"

"Depends on who's telling the story. High-end, I heard Nico was looking for half a mil."

She let out a low whistle. Owing five-hundred grand to your boss with the Russian mob connection could definitely make a man desperate. "But you don't believe it?"

Weevil shook his head. "The real sum is probably closer to two-hundred grand."

That figure made more sense, especially if Nico knew the details of the theft. Ethan, glorified gopher, would only be able to settle his debt if he found the missing cash and drugs. It was easy to see why he 'pooled resources' with Mickey and Dom to harass Karen for information.

"Thanks for asking around." She slid off his desk and shouldered her bag. Weevil stood, giving her a goodbye hug, and the names of Ethan's friends -Hugh Bowen and Diego Gallo. Veronica thanked him again. As she walked from the office to her car, she texted the names to Mac for updated contact information.

The three dimwitted-dealers obviously weren't the thieves. Forget just pissing off Sam Carlucci, stealing the coke would've also put them on the wrong side of Nico Benedetti, and no one was that stupid. But were they murderers? Did they get what they wanted from Karen and then shoot her? Veronica didn't think so.

Karen let her killers into the apartment. Doubtful she would've done that for Ethan, or his friends. And she'd called the thieves later, blackmailed them for a share. It stood to reason they weren't happy about it and might have decided eliminating Karen was the better deal.

 _Blackmailed them for a share_. Veronica frowned. Why would Karen need them to cut her in on the deal? If she'd found the missing stuff and put it 'somewhere safe,' why call them to let them know she was on to them? Why not just take the money and run?

Maybe she didn't _have_ it, but she knew where it was? Maybe that's why she was killed? To prevent her from retrieving the stolen goods and moving them?

Veronica started the car and left the parking lot, navigating the side streets to the freeway. Her plan was to check on the decoy house and the surveillance cameras before heading home, but she couldn't shake the idea of _where_ the missing money might be hidden. The coke she feared was long gone, but the cash…

Not at Shenanigans. If the money was there, Karen wouldn't have had easy access to it, and if it was in her apartment, the killers would have—

That wasn't _her_ apartment. Karen was staying with her mother…

The idea hovered at the edge of her mind, but when Veronica reached for it, she only succeeded in pushing it away. It was right there. She could _feel_ it. The connection. She needed to hear the recordings again. And maybe take another look at the crime scene photos.

Her stop at the decoy house took less time than expected. Both the lightbulb on the porch and the one over the garage were paired with a burner phone, so they required no attention. Switching out the SD card from the bird feeder and rehanging it in the crape myrtle was done in under three minutes. And the front porch told her _more_ than she wanted to know about the furnishings.

It was _cozy_. A table sat between the ladderback rocking chairs with a bronze candle lantern in its center. Large ceramic crocks filled with super-blue Senetti plants flanked the front door, and there were potted ferns along the railings. There was even a welcome mat. It was all a little _too_ domestic to be entirely Weevil's handiwork.

Veronica left Amber's car in the driveway, and used the walk home to clear her head, hoping to catch the elusive thought from earlier and failing. She let herself into the house, silenced the alarm, and put the box of case files on the hall tree bench along with her messenger bag. "Why don't I smell barbecue?"

"Because we're having Chinese food," Logan answered from his prone position on the sofa; only the top of his head was visible over the arm.

"What happened to steaks?" Talking as she walked, she crossed the living room, and circled the couch to join him. "I thought my dad—" Wyatt was curled against Logan's side, head on his chest, fast asleep. Tears streaked her face and clung to her lashes, and her tiny shoulders shook with each deep breath as if she were still crying in her dreams. Veronica raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Legoland was not a happy place."

"But she loves it there." Veronica sat on the coffee table, and leaned forward to gently stroke Wyatt's hair.

"Apparently not when she's with a taller child who can go on more rides and she hasn't had a nap." Chin to chest, he planted a kiss on the top of Wyatt's head. "Jake said she was taking it in stride until they got to the royal joust and she wasn't allowed to ride the pony."

"Well you know how us girls feel about our ponies." Veronica brushed a thumb across Wyatt's cheek, smoothing away the drying tears. "This explains why they're home early, but not where everyone is - did they flee when the tantrum started?"

"No tantrum, she was just sad." Logan wrapped his arms around Wyatt and stood, cradling her to his chest. "I'll go put her down and check on Bay, then you can tell me what Dominick Carlucci said to make you flee the club earlier."

"How did you…" Veronica grimaced, and answered her own question. "The security cameras." They'd obviously come back online while she was still on the balcony with Dom. If she had to guess, she'd say it was _after_ he'd forced her up the stairs and let go of her arm, or else Logan would've blown both of their covers with a right cross to Dom's jaw. She sighed, resigned to the inevitable conversation. "Can't wait."

With a smirk at her sarcasm, he carried Wyatt from the room.

As soon as he was gone, Veronica pulled up her sleeve. Red finger-pad bruises circled her upper arm. In a day or two they'd darken into mottled black-and-blue ovals. She contemplated trying to hide them with the tattoo concealer she'd bought at Pam's suggestion, and immediately realized the futility in that - Logan knew her body intimately and would notice the makeup in a heartbeat.

Her stomach grumbled. Tugging her shirt back down, she wandered into the kitchen in search of the promised Chinese food. Two paper bags from Golden Chopsticks were waiting on the island. Veronica unloaded containers—potstickers, egg rolls, cold sesame noodles, chicken and broccoli, beef in garlic sauce—it was a never-ending smorgasbord. It was as if Logan had ordered one of everything on the menu.

"Is everyone coming back for dinner?" she asked, as Logan walked into the kitchen. "And, more importantly, do I have to wait for them?"

"Dinner is just us." He opened an overhead cabinet, took out a gourmet window box. "Dessert too." The logo on top read The Cravory, and Veronica put down the kung pao chicken to reach for it. Logan smiled. "Are you really going to eat cookies before your meal?"

"Do you have to ask?" He'd gotten all her favorites - Rocky Road, Salted Caramel, Almond Joyous, Peanut Butter Overload, and Chocolate Truffle. It was a tough choice...good thing she didn't have to settle for only one. She took a bite of the Almond Joyous, savored the coconut and Guittard dark-chocolate chunks, and asked, "Take-out, an empty house, and the best cookies in Balboa County… so what gives? Did you forget to pick up my dry cleaning again?"

Logan broke apart his chopsticks and picked up the carton of cold noodles. "I just wanted a few hours alone with you."

She smiled. "And how did you manage this feat?"

"Reservations at The Marine Room." He dropped onto the stool next to her. "I suggested your dad work things out with Dot over a nice romantic dinner."

"So they're eating filet mignon and caviar, oceanside, while I get cold noodles?" Veronica directed a pointed look at Logan's chopsticks and opened her mouth.

He obliged the silent demand and fed them to her, kissing her nose while she chewed. "It's not the food, it's the company."

Veronica swallowed. "Mmm… and where's the rest of our company? Not at the restaurant, I hope, because 'table for five' does not sound romantic at all."

"They took the steaks to barbecue at Jake's. Tyler's going to stay with him tonight when Pam goes to work - they've planned some big backyard camp-out." He fed her more noodles. "Now it's your turn - tell me about Dom Carlucci."

"Um… sketchy criminal with a long rap sheet and bad relatives?" He stared at her, unamused. Veronica slipped off the stool, rounded the island, and moved to the cabinets. "It was nothing." She took down plates and glasses and got a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. "He saw me using the balcony and warned me away from upstairs."

"Warned how?"

She sidestepped the question. "You're focusing on the wrong thing; what you should be asking is what I found in the VIP room." She ladled pork fried rice onto both plates, then added spare ribs to hers.

"Okay, Veronica, I'll bite - did you find the cash and drugs?"

"That's it? You're just going to jump right to the good stuff? Don't you want to warm me up first?" She returned to her stool. "Maybe a little teasing? Some foreplay?"

"If that's what you really want." One-handed, he grabbed the leg of her chair and dragged it across the floor, pulling her closer. "I'm more than happy to comply." He bent his head, bringing his mouth to her neck. "Conversation is overrated anyway." His warm breath caressed her skin.

"Says the man who—" The rest of her sentence was forgotten as his lips kissed down the side of her neck. When he started to suck on the spot above her collarbone, she pushed him away. "I want to eat."

"So do I." A suggestive eyebrow bob accompanied his words, and sent an anticipatory shiver down her spine.

" _Food_ , Logan."

"Yes, dear." Smiling, he used the chopsticks to add noodles to her plate, then served her half the potstickers. "Okay, tell me what you found."

With a frown, she opened a package of duck sauce and squeezed it onto her egg roll. Logan was thwarting her plans for a slow reveal with his questions and demands. "I'll think about it… _but_ no more interrupting, _and_ you have to promise the correct amount of adulation for all my brilliant deductions."

His grin widened. "Deal."

"The VIP room has the same cherry-wood wall paneling as Joey's office." She took a bite of egg roll, licked duck sauce from the corner of her mouth, and watched Logan's face for a reaction to her information. There was none, but she could _feel_ his impatience. Veronica smiled. "Hoisin sauce, please?" She pointed at the plastic cup.

Without a word, he handed her the sauce, and watched as she constructed a moo shu pork pancake. To reward him for his patience she said, "Your dumbwaiter was hiding behind one of the board-and-batten squares."

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "So you didn't quit looking for it, you just changed venues."

Veronica shook her head. "No searching required - Sam left it open, which was a good thing, because I doubt I would've found it on my own." She explained how the mortise-and-tenon joint acted as a lock, and how you needed to slide both pieces of molding at the same time to release the fake panel. "It was very clever." With an exaggerated fake-pout, she asked, "Why don't we have any cool hidden compartments or secret rooms in our house?"

"Because you won't let me build an upstairs." Logan winked and stole a bite of her egg roll. "So is that how they smuggled the stuff from the room?"

"I don't think so." She thoughtfully chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of iced tea. "Sam's probably the only one who knew about the dumbwaiter and he's not the thief." It was beneath his pay grade to steal from three wannabe hoodlums. Plus why steal it when, according to Weevil, he was getting the premium coke at a bargain-basement price?

"Should I _ooh_ and _ahh_ at your detective prowess now, or is there more?" Veronica poked him with her chopsticks. "Hey!" He rubbed his chest. "I just wanted to make sure I was holding up my end of the bargain, and giving you all the accolades you deserve."

"I'll let you worship at my altar later." His answering smile was slow and indecent, causing Veronica to fan herself. "Did it just get very hot in here?"

"Not as hot as it'll get… later."

 _Woof_. She shook her head to clear the images conjured by his words. "Uh… plastic wrap."

Logan's brows knit together at the non-sequitur. "Are you done eating and want to store the food? Or are you suggesting something kinky? Because I'm totally up for—"

"There was plastic wrap in the shower." The explanation didn't clear his confusion so she added, "It was left over from the party—still covered with food and stinking up the joint—but I don't think all of it came from the caterer."

"You have a theory?"

"Uh-huh." She ate a potsticker. How does the average person sell five kilos of cocaine? They don't. "There was a wad of duct tape hidden inside a toilet paper roll - I think the thief flushed the coke down the toilet."


	32. Tip Of My Tongue

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Last night she'd explained it to Logan- Five trips to the bathroom, one for each kilo of cocaine. Flush the product, stash the duct tape inside a toilet paper roll, then rinse off the plastic wrap and hide it in plain sight with the food garbage. But this morning, Veronica was still puzzling out the _why_. If they were only going to destroy the coke, why not leave it be, and just steal the cash? Maybe they thought—

"Me eat?" Wyatt asked, banging her feet against the chair, and pointing at the frying pan.

"Sorry, sweet pea." Veronica quickly finished buttering the toast, and cut off the crusts before carrying it to the table along with Wyatt's scrambled eggs. "Do you want more melon?"

"B'own milk."

Not really an answer to the question, but okay. Veronica fixed her a sippy cup of chocolate milk, then added more cantaloupe chunks to her pink, daisy-shaped bowl. She gently stroked Wyatt's hair, pushing it off her forehead. "Maybe when you're done eating, we can snuggle on the sofa to watch Peppa?" _And you can go back to sleep_.

"Fancy party!" Wyatt shoved a fist of melon into her mouth, and with her other hand dipped eggs in ketchup. Her feet continued to beat a steady rhythm on the booster seat while she ate. Despite the time—two hours earlier than her usual breakfast—Wyatt didn't show any sign of still being tired. Jake was NOT kidding when he'd said she contained enough energy to power a submarine.

Yawning, Veronica rested her head on the table and closed her eyes. It was still dark outside, and she hadn't been to bed yet. She'd made it home from the club fifteen minutes before Logan, but she'd stupidly decided to read an email from Mac, which is why HE was sleeping, and SHE was feeding a wide-awake Wyatt.

"Mama eat?"

Veronica pried open her eyes and smiled at the squished, dripping piece of melon Wyatt was trying to share. It was easier to take the proffered piece of cantaloupe than to explain she wasn't hungry. She chewed and swallowed and stared at the Keurig. Not hungry, but a jolt of caffeine sounded good.

She brewed a cup, splashed in a decent amount of cream, spooned sugar into the mug, and then took a long, slow sip.

Maybe the thief thought stealing both the cash and coke was a good cover? If they'd left the coke untouched, it would look like Sam or one of his men had robbed the dealers, but stealing from _both_ sides of the table increased the suspect pool and diverted attention.

Veronica smiled at Wyatt. "More melon?"

She frowned at her empty daisy bowl, head tilted in contemplation. "Cheese?"

Veronica was beginning to have a good idea of _why_ it required several plates for Logan to feed their child. She glanced at the uneaten toast and neglected eggs as Wyatt dunked her hand in ketchup and started to lick her fingers. "Swiss or cheddar?"

"Yes," Wyatt answered, nodding her head.

Veronica took both from the fridge, along with a ham steak, and cut everything into cubes. To discourage the ketchup-as-food idea, she put hummus on yet another plate, and garnished it with slices of sweet bell pepper. Balancing the multiple dishes, she carried it all to the table, and was rewarded with a wide grin from Wyatt. "Fank you."

"You're welcome, sweet pea." Veronica reclaimed her seat, picked up her mug. "What are you going to do with Nana Dot today?"

The question was enough to unleash Wyatt's chatty gene, and she started listing all her favorite things to do, concluding with "-mud pies."

Veronica's eye twitched. Creating mud pies was a Logan idea. He'd introduced the activity to Wyatt over the summer, and it quickly reached number one on her hit parade. _Shocker_. It ticked all her boxes - alone time with Logan, water, getting dirty, and making a mess. For days the lawn was a boggy swampland, and it took _forever_ to get the mud out from beneath Wyatt's finger-and toe-nails. "I don't know, Wy… Daddy might be sad if you make those without him."

Her tiny face scrunched as she considered the dilemma, then she nodded and grinned. "Daddy too."

And, knowing Logan, if Wyatt smiled at him like that, he'd be unable to refuse. Which might not be a bad thing (except for the grass), because it would keep him homebound instead of trying to play detective, and Veronica had a stop she needed to make solo.

She glanced at the clock, calculating how long it would be before another adult woke up, and how many hours she'd be able to sleep. Might not be worth it. Maybe if she finished her to-do list, she'd have time to nap later before going into Shenanigans. Deciding she could fuel her morning with caffeine and vengeance, she brewed another cup of coffee, using Logan's extra-dark roast.

Tapping the spacebar on her laptop, she woke up the computer and went to Google. _How much coke will get you busted for intent to distribute?_ Veronica read the first search result. More than reasonable for personal use. _Hmm_. Sentencing could be up to four years in state prison and a twenty-thousand dollar fine. "That'll do, pig."

"Babe!" Wyatt clapped, smooshing hummus between her hands.

Veronica's head jerked up to glance at her. "You're too little to understand pop-culture references, kid." Wyatt shrugged, and squeezed her hands into fists to watch the hummus ooze through her fingers. Veronica frowned. "Are you done eating?"

"No, Mama." She swiped her tongue across her palm, then picked up a piece of cheese, and took a big, showy bite.

"Maybe acting _is_ in your blood."

"Wow, not only are you cranky when you're tired, you're also delusional." Logan leaned over her shoulder to peer into her cup. "Unless you're drinking something stronger than coffee?"

She frowned at him. "Why are you awake?"

"Because you didn't come to bed." He inclined his head toward Wyatt, who was gobbling down a slice of bell pepper. "Of course now I see why. You're up early, Jellybean."

"Hunee." She held out a cube of Swiss, making it unclear whether she was telling him why she woke early, or asking if _Logan_ was hungry. He snagged the cheese with his teeth, then pretended to eat her fingers, causing her to giggle and snort.

Logan smiled. "I can stay up with her, if you want?"

For a beat, Veronica considered the offer, then shook her head. "Go back to sleep. We're going to watch Peppa when she's done."

The mere mention of Peppa was enough to make 'permanently-traumatized-by-a-cartoon-pig' Logan, retreat. He kissed the top of Wyatt's head, then gave Veronica a quick peck on the lips, before backing from the kitchen with a salute.

Veronica watched him go, then turned back to her computer. She accessed her Accurint account, typed in the name Casey Gant, and hit enter. The search yielded five separate addresses. One was for Gant Publishing, three were scattered across the country in places like Martha's Vineyard and Manhattan, and the last was right here in Neptune. She put the address in her phone, closed the search engine, then sent a text to Weevil with a request.

"More?" Wyatt held out her plate Oliver-Twist style.

"Sure, sweet pea." A quick scan of the table said she was out of cheese, fruit, and peppers. Veronica refilled all three. "Are you having a growth spurt?" She tickled Wyatt's side. "Working to get tall like Daddy?"

With an exaggerated nod, Wyatt chomped on a cheddar wedge.

Veronica sat and took a sip of coffee, then helped herself to Wyatt's eggs. They were cold with too much ketchup, but it was better than nothing. She stole the side of toast. "Should we go see the seals tomorrow?"

It was her Saturday with Wyatt, and the Children's Pool was always a big hit. They could walk along the sea wall, watch the sunbathing pups, then meet Logan for lunch at Bubba's Smokehouse.

"Yesss," Wy replied around a mouthful of cheese and hummus. "Tea lions."

Her daughter was excited by the idea of marine mammals, while Veronica was thinking about the food afterwards- pulled pork, ribs, and brisket. Were there any barbecue joints on her way to Weevil's? Apparently, yesterday's visit to Becker's Catering had ignited a craving that needed satisfying.

Becker's…

Putting down her mug, she stood, and went to retrieve the pan carrier from the hall-tree bench. The insulated, hard-resin container was designed to hold up to five food trays, and was very solid. Veronica lugged it to the kitchen table.

There were no obvious hiding places inside. She frowned at the nearly seamless interior. If someone wanted to use the carrier to smuggle the stolen money from the party, they would've needed prior access. And, even then, Veronica wasn't sure it would work. The bottom and sides were definitely thick enough to stash the cash, but there was no way to cut them open without leaving visible damage.

She sighed. The caterer theory was dead in the water, but the basic premise was still valid. She just needed to figure out the 'what' and she'd have the 'who'.

"Done, Mama," Wyatt said, tugging on the strap to her booster chair, and spreading hummus all over her pajamas. "Peppa now?"

"You bet." Veronica got a washcloth from the sink to clean Wyatt's hands, face, and shirt, then freed her from the seat. Wyatt disappeared into the living room at a speed slightly slower than light, and had the DVD out of the case before Veronica crossed the threshold. She scooped the box off the floor. Twelve episodes. She scanned the titles for the least annoying, gave up at the fourth episode. "Want to watch Ballet Lesson?"

Wyatt shook her head. "Fancy party."

Veronica's eye twitched again, but she slipped the disc into the player. At least it was only a five-minute show and not a feature-length film. She shuddered. _Please don't ever let them make a Peppa movie_.

"Cozy," Wyatt instructed, climbing onto the sofa, and Veronica smiled. She'd watch all twelve episodes for cozy-time with her daughter.

Before lying down, Veronica grabbed the remote and pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa. She waited for Wyatt to snuggle against her, then wrapped them both in the navy fleece and pushed play.

As Peppa's friends arrived in their costumes, Veronica closed her eyes… and didn't reopen them until she felt Wyatt patting her cheek. "Play 'gain?"

Veronica blinked. The end credits were scrolling across the screen. She must have fallen asleep-a quick glance at the clock-over an hour ago. _Shit_. Shaking her head in answer to Wyatt's question, she sat up. "I think a gazillion episodes of Peppa is enough TV for today."

The answering pout was instantaneous.

Before she could resort to a toddler tantrum, Veronica distracted. "Let's go wake up Partner." _And, fingers-crossed, Grandpa and Nana Dot too_. "We can take him outside."

"Me walk Pardner." Wyatt slid off the sofa. "No run stairs, boo-boos," she whispered the reminder to herself as she marched toward the guest room. When she banged her palm on the door in lieu of a knock, Veronica _almost_ considered stopping her, then changed her mind. Wyatt twisted the knob, and flung open the door. "M'up, Pardner, we go walk."

On cue, the dog started barking and raced from the room accompanied by a loud groan from Keith and a soft, "I'll go let him out," from Dottie.

Veronica smiled. Other adults were now officially awake. She took her time unlocking the French door to the yard, and patted her thigh to summon Partner. The dog bounded over with Wyatt on his heels. "You two can play in the yard." She kept her voice low, hoping Dottie wouldn't hear and decide to go back to bed.

By the time Dot stumbled from the guest room, Wyatt and Partner were through the door, across the deck, and halfway down the steps to the lawn. Dot spotted Veronica and stopped walking. "I didn't realize you were awake," she said, tightening the belt on her robe.

"I was dozing on the couch while Wyatt watched Peppa." The half-truth was a ready-made excuse for not stopping Wyatt from waking them. "Do you mind watching her while I go shower? She's already had breakfast." Veronica started toward the hall. "I have a few errands I need to run this morning."

Dottie didn't agree to babysitting detail, but she also didn't protest, and Veronica used the silence to make a hasty exit, rushing down the hall to the master bedroom. She opened the door with deliberate slowness to avoid waking Logan, who was sprawled on his back, taking up most of the California King. Clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, he made an enticing invitation. Veronica was tempted to crawl into bed and curl up next to him. But she resisted.

Time was tight. She needed to stop at the store before meeting Weevil. _Stores_. Luckily there was a Walmart, Rite Aid, and Dollar Tree all in the same three-block radius. No one-stop shopping for her, but the boric acid, baby laxatives, plastic wrap, and small Ziploc bags were all necessary.

She hurried through a shower, twisted her wet hair into a hasty bun, and tossed her towels in the hamper. Naked, she exited the bathroom. The breeze from the ceiling fan cooled her heated flesh, and goosebumps puckered her skin. She shivered and grabbed clothes from the dresser, quickly donning a bra, underwear, and socks.

"Are you coming to bed?" Logan asked the question without opening his eyes.

Veronica pulled on a soft cashmere turtleneck. "No" —she gave him a quick kiss— "I'm going to talk to the girls who quit Shenanigans."

He pried open one eye. "What about sleep?"

"I'll nap later." She leaned in for another fast kiss, but found herself lingering as Logan caressed her cheek and parted her lips with his tongue. He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the mattress. Veronica sunk her fingers in his hair and tugged, wrenching their mouths apart. "Logan, I have—"

"To stay here with me." He reclaimed her mouth, and Veronica surrendered, molding her body to his. Making out with Logan was definitely a better way to spend her morning than doing _chores_. His hand skimmed over her hip, slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, and smoothed its way up her spine. When he reached her bra, his fingers stilled. "Wyatt?"

"With Dot." Veronica toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. "But I've got things to do." It was a mild protest neither of them took seriously.

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured against her skin. "I certainly don't want to keep you from your very important things." His fingers stroked her belly, pushing her sweater higher.

"Good." Veronica yanked the turtleneck the rest of the way off and tossed it on the floor. "Because I'm very busy."

"I know." Logan unsnapped her bra and slid the straps down her arms. "Suspects to question." His tongue flicked over her nipple. "Bad guys to catch." He gently nipped the tight bud, then sucked it into his mouth to soothe the sting.

A ripple of pleasure shot through her, arching her hips off the bed. "Yet you're wasting time with all this chatter, when you should just get to it."

Logan lifted his head. "Anyone ever accuse you of being bossy?"

"Not today."

He smiled as he brought their lips together in a kiss. At first tender, it quickly escalated into a need so raw it left them both gasping for air.

Veronica blinked. "Wow."

"That's an understatement." Framing her face in his palms, he kissed her nose, and rolled her onto her back. "I love you, Veronica." He hooked his thumbs in the waist of her bikini briefs, tugged them over her hips and slowly down her legs. His mouth and tongue followed in their wake, nibbling and tasting the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

"Logan." It was an impatient plea.

And he readily complied, burying his face between her parted legs. His tongue teased her clit with languid, lazy strokes and then slipped inside to taste her. Veronica moaned as his fingers joined his mouth, working in concert to bring her to the edge. She braced her feet on his shoulders, and buried her hands in his hair, pressing him closer.

Her breath quickened into short, shallow pants, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears as he sucked her clit into his mouth, and slid his long fingers in and out of her in a steady rhythm, curling and stroking her core.

He knew exactly how to touch her. The right pressure. The precise spot. Their years together had perfected this dance. But it always felt different. Exciting. He could turn her on with a look. With dirty words whispered in her ear. A gentle caress. And he always made sure she was satisfied, like his pleasure was dependent on hers.

Toes curling, Veronica's body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her in hard waves. Logan drew it out, circling her clit with his thumb and watching her come. "Beautiful," he whispered, kissing her belly.

Veronica fell back against the mattress. "If that's the preview, I can't wait for the main event."

"Aren't you glad you didn't rush off?" He pushed her knee up to her chest, making room for his hips, and settled himself on top of her. Brushing the hair back from her face, he kissed her forehead, and reached for his nightstand.

Her eyes followed his movements, watching as he pulled a condom from the drawer. "Very glad I stayed. Getting off is infinitely better than rushing off." She trailed her fingers along the length of his arm to his hand and plucked the condom from his grip. "We don't need that," she said, letting it fall to the carpet.

Logan arched an eyebrow.

Instead of answering his silent question, she cupped his face with her palm and kissed him. With her other hand, she reached between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, gently guiding the tip inside her sex. Logan growled into her mouth, and with one swift thrust he buried himself deep, making Veronica gasp.

He smoothed his hands up her arms, laced their fingers together, and pinned her arms above her head as he withdrew and then slammed back inside. Veronica balanced the heel of her foot on his shoulder, and rocked against him, taking him deeper.

" _Fuck_ ," Logan hissed, letting go of her hands to grip her hips.

Free to touch him, she explored the hard contours of his chest; brushed down his arms, enjoying the play of muscles beneath her fingers as his biceps bunched and flexed. Logan lifted her other leg onto his shoulder, raising her ass from the mattress, and tilting her forward before pounding into her.

" _Ooh_ ," Veronica moaned, digging her nails into his arms as he thrust into her over and over, the head of his cock hitting her g-spot. Closing her eyes, she tossed her head back as the tension coiled in her belly. She was going to come again. "Don't stop."

"Bossy," he grunted as he continued to pummel her. "Come for me."

 _So close_. Her legs went rigid, hips bucking against him as her orgasm hit, hard and fast. Logan chased his own pleasure, pounding her into the mattress, his thrusts wild and erratic. He bit her shoulder as he came, and collapsed on top of her.

Veronica curled around him, holding him close, savoring the feel of his weight pressing against her. Their ragged breathing slowed. Logan nuzzled her neck and kissed behind her ear, then rolled onto his back, taking her with him. "I love you, Veronica."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "I love you, too."

A kiss landed in her hair. "Want to tell me why—"

"I have to leave the house instead of staying right here with you?" she interrupted, kissing his shoulder and rolling away. She ignored his troubled look, and clambered from the bed. "Mac was only able to find one of the girls who left the club; she's got an apartment in Mission Hills." Veronica scooped her discarded turtleneck and bra from the floor. "Then I'm going to pay Casey Gant a visit- see if he can tell me why his father helped push the zoning variance for Shenanigans."

"I'll get dressed and come with you." He sat up, swung his legs off the mattress. "We can talk in the car."

"Can't." She carried her clothes into the bathroom, and left the door open so she could hear him while she got ready. "Wyatt is planning on making mud pies with you today, and Dot needs to leave. She still has to help Nick find a new apartment."

To drown out his reply, Veronica turned on the water, and used the handheld showerhead to rinse off. But her reprieve was short-lived; she exited the shower to find Logan leaning in the doorway. "I'll stay here with the girls, but call me when you're done. I'll meet you at the Holiday Inn."

"Ready for another round? A little afternoon delight?" Turning her back on his pleading, talk-to-me face, she dried, then rehung the towel on the heated rack. "It's probably going to take me all day, so… raincheck?"

His somber eyes followed her movements as she got dressed. "Are you coming home in between your day of sleuthing and your evening of stripping?"

"And miss dinner? It's like you don't know me at all." She buttoned her jeans, flipped the toilet seat closed, and sat down to put on her boots. "If you don't want to cook, I can bring something home. Maybe even something healthy- _ish_?"

"The ultimate sacrifice- healthy food." With his shoulder, he pushed off the doorframe and met her in the center of the room. "You must really love me."

Veronica tilted her head and smiled. "I do."

Logan kissed her nose. "What about a compromise- I'll make chicken for me, and I'll cover it with a rich cream sauce for you."

"Hmm." She curved her palm around his cheek. "And maybe stuff it with some ham and cheese?"

"Should I wrap it in bacon too?" Logan slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"Only if _you_ want to."

His lips quirked with amusement as he leaned in to kiss her. "Bacon, it is then."

"While you're being so agreeable…" Veronica slid her fingers along his forearms, reaching behind her back to separate his hands, and free herself from his embrace. "I need to use some of the money Tomás brought over."

"Okay." He dragged a hand through his hair, scratched his scalp, and yawned. "Mud pies, huh? Think I can get an hour of sleep first?"

She frowned. "That's it? I tell you I'm taking the cash and you just say okay? What if I was going to blow it all at the casino, or give it away, or—"

"I don't care what you do with it, Veronica, it's your money too." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "But if you're planning another Thanksgiving trip, can we go somewhere more adventurous than New York? Maybe Cloudbreak or Manu Bay?"

Her nose wrinkled. "Family holiday vacations aren't surf trips."

With a shrug and a grin, he exited the bathroom. "But they could be… if you'd ever learn to surf." He flopped backwards onto the bed and plumped the pillow under his head. "Don't forget to shut the door on your way out."

Eyes closed, legs splayed, hands behind his head; he looked so comfortable it would serve him right if she left the door open, _and_ sent Wyatt to find him. But she'd do neither. It wasn't his fault she was passing on the opportunity to sleep. Even if he was the reason.

"Hey, Logan?" He popped one eye open to stare at her. "Try not to flood the yard this time, okay?"

He smiled. "I make no promises."

Which meant it would look like a scene from The Day After Tomorrow, but hopefully without the freezing temperatures and wolves. Shaking her head, she exited the room, and shut the door with a thump.

The quiet said Wyatt was still outside with the dog and Dottie.

Veronica made her way to the kitchen, removed the locked pouch from the freezer, and withdrew fifteen thousand dollars. Her Google searches had revealed the average price for a kilo of coke in San Diego was between fourteen and twenty-one thousand dollars. She didn't know how much this was going to cost her, but she'd asked for the highest grade he could find. She took another five thousand just to be safe, then returned the bag.

Committing one… two… maybe _three_ felonies before noon. She shook her head and filled her travel mug with more coffee. Fingers crossed she wouldn't get caught because the prison visiting room at Chowchilla was probably _not_ what Logan had in mind when he suggested a more adventurous family vacation.


	33. Someone Will Pay

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Going to prison without satisfying her craving for barbecue would just be dumb so Veronica detoured to Market Street for a brisket sandwich and a half-rack of ribs from Bowlegged BBQ and ate her food in between errands. At her final stop, Navarro Custom Auto, she used a baby wipe and the rearview mirror to remove all traces of their special sauce from her face before heading inside.

"Do I want to know what you're gonna do with this?" Weevil asked, passing her a black reusable bag with the Ralphs logo on it.

"Would you believe me if I said food shopping?" He hung his head with a heavy sigh, and Veronica grinned. "What? Recycling is important."

"I don't know how Logan does it; flying fighter jets was probably easier than being married to you."

"Good thing he likes a challenge." She peeked in the bag. "How much did it cost?"

"Ten K." At her frown, he shrugged. "Someone owed me a favor."

Hopefully, the exchange wouldn't cause any blowback on him, but Veronica didn't question it further- the less she knew about Weevil's favors, the better. She gave him the money with her thanks and stashed her illegal contraband in the car. With a wave, she put the car in gear and pulled from the garage.

She traversed surface roads to the 805 south to National City where she cut across to the 5 and continued her southward trajectory to Chula Vista. It was out of her way, but totally worth it. In her world, people paid for their misdeeds and it was time for Sean to get what was coming to him.

He lived in an apartment complex optimistically called Pacific View. Not even on a clear day, standing on the roof and aided by binoculars, would any of these tan boxes afford the occupants a glimpse of ocean. But lucky for her, the only view she wanted was of Sean's front door, and the cracked parking lot offered fantastic sightlines. She backed into a space, and used her cell to call Sean.

"Yeah?" he mumbled into the phone, half-awake and surly.

"Guess who?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "It's Veronica Mars, and we need to talk."

"Uh… I don't think so. In fact, I'm hanging up right now."

"Big mistake." There was no need to check the display on her phone to know he hadn't disconnected the call; she could hear him breathing while he considered his options. She grinned.

"Whaddya want?"

"You know the IHOP over on Broadway?" Sean grunted his assent. The restaurant was close, less than a mile away, but his trip there and back would give her all the time she needed. "Meet me there in say… ten minutes and we'll talk."

The silence stretched. Long enough she actually did glance at her phone to make sure he was still on the line. Finally he said, "Fifteen minutes."

Veronica rolled her eyes at the pathetic attempt for control. "Fine." She tapped the end call button, tossed her phone on the passenger seat, and settled in to wait for his departure.

There were other ways she could've executed the plan—stake-out his apartment and wait for him to leave on his own, or pull the fire alarm to evacuate the building—but she wanted him to realize she was responsible. Deep in his bones, she wanted him to know _she_ was the cause of his downfall. It wasn't ideal. She'd prefer to explain it to him. Give him all the reasons he so rightfully deserved this, but he'd have four years in state prison to figure them out on his own.

Sean hesitated on his way from the apartment. She watched him pause, check the exterior walkway, and then he leaned over the railing to see the courtyard below. Satisfied she wasn't lurking, he double-checked the lock on his door, and walked toward the stairs. Veronica sank lower in her seat, hiding behind the dash. She didn't want his paranoia to spoil things.

A car engine started and Veronica risked a quick peek over the steering wheel to confirm it was Sean. Done being cautious, he drove past her without turning his head, eyes focused on the exit and the street beyond. He barely tapped his brakes at the edge of the lot, the Corolla's taillights flashing before he pulled into traffic and made the left.

Veronica grabbed her purchases, and took the same quick walk as Sean, only in reverse - across the lot, up the stairs, and down the walkway to his apartment.

The lock was flimsy. It took her less time to pick it than it took to stage the scene. When the cops arrived, she wanted it to look like Sean was in the middle of cutting the coke and repackaging it for sale. Possession with intent to distribute.

Baby laxatives, boric acid, plastic wrap, and one kilo of coke. She artfully arranged them on the counter that separated the galley kitchen from the living room. For good measure—pun intended—she added her last minute purchase of a digital scale. Perfect.

Now the only thing she had to do was turn off the water to the toilet. There was no telling how long the cops would take to arrive and she didn't want Sean to flush the coke before they did. She hustled down the short hall. All the doors were open, which made locating the bathroom cake. Veronica twisted the valve, flushed out the remaining water from the tank, then backed from the room and the apartment.

Buying the coke (felony number one) was easy - there was no fear of Weevil turning her in to the cops. Breaking and entering (felony number two) and setting up the frame (felony number three) were even easier. She could pick a lock as cheap as Sean's in her sleep. But now was the hard part- calling the police to report a crime (felony number four). Veronica had to make sure the call did not trace back to her, _and_ her voice had to be unidentifiable on the recorded line.

Good thing she'd taken the time to find one of California's last remaining payphones before she left the house this morning. It was a short drive to the trailer park around the corner.

She kept her head down, wiped her prints from the quarter, and used her knuckle to dial. With her best Sofia Vergara impersonation (the one Logan loved so much), she reported the drug dealer in her building who was selling coke from his living room. Then to make the matter urgent, she embellished the story by adding 'scary men with guns' and faked fear for her children's safety. She hung up before they could ask any questions.

Not wanting to miss the arrest, she drove back to Sean's. Too bad she couldn't plant a camera inside his his face when the police busted down the door would've been the winning entry in her own special version of America's Funniest Home Videos. She could save it to the cloud and…

Veronica frowned at her phone. Cloud account. Pam said Sam had an app on his phone that let him check the surveillance cameras at the club. With a wireless connection? And if so, could Mac get the footage from the night of Karen's murder? Better, could she access the videos Sam _saved_?

With one eye on the entrance, she sent Mac a text. She hit send as Sean's Corolla careened around the corner into the lot. He flew past her and jerked into his earlier spot. The loud slam of his car door gave her some insight as to how pissed he was to be stood up at the IHOP. _Just wait, buddy, your day is about to get way worse_.

The phone rang in her hands, startling her. _Mac_. Veronica hit the answer button. "That was very prompt; are you bucking for another raise?"

" _Another_ raise? When did I get the first one?"

"Keep talking like that and you'll never get one. Have you found any of the other girls who left the club?"

"Not yet, but I got the video from Apple Liquors; I'm watching it now and I sent a copy to your email." Approaching sirens kept Veronica from answering. "Is that the police?" Mac asked. "Are they coming for you, and should I call Logan for bail money?"

"Hardy-har-har."

Three black-and-whites with their light bars flashing and sirens wailing slewed into the parking lot. Six officers scrambled from their cars, blue-and-gold Chula Vista emblems on their sleeves and sidearms on their hips. The lead officer unsnapped his holster to withdraw his weapon and the others followed suit. They raced up the stairs toward Sean's apartment.

"I've gotta go," Veronica said. "But I'll check the liquor store video as soon as I get home, and you keep searching for the missing dancers." She hit 'end call' as two officers dragged Sean from his apartment in handcuffs, hauled him down the stairs and stuffed him in the backseat of the lead car.

 _That's for Logan and Carrie, asshole._

Two cruisers peeled from the lot, leaving the final car and its officers behind. Veronica watched the remaining cops return to Sean's apartment and disappear inside. While they were collecting evidence, she made her getaway.

It was less than he deserved. Dealing drugs to first Logan, then Carrie. Cheating. Selling Logan's information to the tabloids. Posting illicit videos of Carrie's drug use online. Veronica wasn't going to lose sleep over framing Sean. Her conscience was clear.

She made a right at the end of the block and took Palomar to the freeway. With Sean dispatched, it was time to redouble her efforts on solving Pam's case.

Splitting her focus between the road and the nav system, she started pushing buttons. Veronica had a vague idea where Haley Romanov lived—east of the 5 and before the park—but she needed the GPS for precise directions.

Too bad there wasn't a GPS for how to navigate the upcoming conversation. There was no ruse Veronica could use to get Haley to talk. In order to ask the specific questions she needed answered, she'd have to be upfront about her identity. It was the ultimate cold call - you're under no obligation to speak to me, but do it anyway because I need your help.

Veronica took exit 19, merged onto Moore, and then made a left on Old Town Avenue. As the road started to climb, she scanned the buildings for the right address. Haley's complex was part of a brand-new development. The builders had cleaved open the face of the hills to insert the condominiums, and they looked precarious, as if at any moment they might topple onto the houses below.

She drove past in search of parking, found a spot at the apex of the hill, and walked back to the white-stucco-and-red-barrel-roof construction. Haley's apartment was on the top floor. Veronica rang the bell and waited.

The box next to the door squawked. "Yes?"

Veronica introduced herself. "I'm an investigator and I'd like to talk to you about Shenanigans." She strategically left off the word 'private' hoping Haley would assume she was law enforcement and not refuse entry.

It took a while, but eventually the box emitted another screech. "Okay."

A soft _click_ indicated the release of the door lock. Veronica pushed inside and made her way upstairs.

Haley was standing outside her apartment, waiting. Dick said the dancers at Shenanigans were hot and Haley was no exception. Casual in a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a white crop top, sporting bare feet, no makeup, and her caramel-blonde hair in a messy bun, she still looked ready for a Vogue photoshoot.

"You have ID?" she asked as Veronica approached. After handing over her license for inspection, V studied the other woman. On the surface, she seemed relaxed, leaning on the doorjamb and smiling, but her shoulders were tense and her fingers trembled when she returned Veronica's wallet. "I guess you better come in," she said with a furtive glance down the hall. "The neighbors can be..."

She didn't finish the thought, and Veronica supplied her own adjectives— _nosy, annoying, intrusive_ —as she followed Haley inside. Private investigating 101 said you should build rapport with your interviewee by engaging in small talk. Too bad Veronica sucked at small talk, but she made an effort by complimenting the minimalist decor.

"How did you find me?" Haley asked, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"My assistant is good with computers." She offered Mac a silent apology for the understatement. "Have you lived here long?"

"It's temporary; I'm, uh... moving soon." Her eyes darted around the room. "What do you want to know about the club? I mean, not that I _know_ anything. I only—" She bit her bottom lip and folded her arms over her body, defensive. "Is _Sam_ your client? Did he hire you?"

Veronica shook her head. "Definitely not." Maybe she couldn't put Haley at ease by flattering her decorating skills, but she might be able to win her over with honesty. "I'm trying to close down the club and put Sam behind bars."

The words had an immediate effect on Haley, deflating the tension in her body, and clearing the pinched expression from her face. She unfolded her arms, and waved towards the couch - a silent invitation for Veronica to sit, which she accepted. Haley remained on her feet. "Why do you think I can… I'm not sure I can help you?"

She certainly _wouldn't_ be helpful if she continued her habit of not finishing her sentences. Veronica had to get her talking. She started small. The softball questions soothed Haley into taking a seat, perching on the edge of a white tub chair.

Are you originally from this area? _No, I grew up in Kirkland, outside of Seattle._

How did you get the job at Shenanigans? _Joey saw me dancing at this place called Kittens._

Why did you decide to move here? _It's California; doesn't everyone come here to 'find themselves'?_

Her answer was disingenuous. There was definitely more to the story than the great weather in Southern California, but Veronica didn't know if it was important. A bad home life, or a shitty relationship with her parents, didn't necessarily…

"How did your family feel about you moving so far away?"

Haley shrugged. "It's just my mom, and we're not super close. I mean, we don't hate each other or anything, but we can go a few weeks without talking, and I don't…" She frowned. "I never actually _told_ her about the job; I just said I was leaving town."

"Did you work at the club long?" Veronica already knew the details of her work history from the personnel file—one of the original dancers, there for six months before quitting—but sometimes you needed to test the person's veracity.

"A few months." She popped up from the chair. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thanks." Declining the offer wasn't enough to keep Haley in place. The dancer skittered from the room, disappearing behind the wood-grain peninsula and wrenching open the stainless steel fridge. Veronica waited until she'd opened a bottle of Perrier then asked, "So why did you leave?"

A delicate, one-shouldered shrug. "It wasn't for me. There are a lot of girls who are willing to provide extra services, but I'm not one of them."

"You're talking about the private parties?"

She nodded. "The main club was okay, but upstairs is where the real money's at. I was making close to a grand a night, enough to be able to buy this place outright, but then—" Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. Admitting she owned the condo gave lie to her earlier words about her living conditions being temporary. "You really won't tell Sam where I am?"

"I won't," Veronica promised. "Did he… did Sam hurt you?"

"No!" The denial was swift and not entirely believable. "Not me, but… there was talk."

"What sort of talk?"

" _Pochemuchka_ ," she muttered under her breath. With a pointed glare at Veronica, she added, "My mother calls me that when I ask too many questions."

Instead of taking the hint, Veronica approached the subject from a different direction. "There was another dancer, Aimee, who quit around the same time- have you stayed in touch with her?"

"She didn't—" A kaleidoscope of emotions played across Haley's face as she stared at the bottle in her hand like she wasn't sure what it was for or how it got there. Finally she raised it to her mouth, took a long sip, and set the Perrier on the counter. "I don't know where Aimee is, and I don't talk to anyone from there."

There was a finality to the statement, which made Veronica think Haley was done with the interview, but she gave it another try. "Whatever rumors you heard could be useful. They might point me in the right direction. The police already think he's involved with money laundering and gun trafficking."

" _Gun_ trafficking?" Haley shook her head, incredulous. "His type of friends don't have a need for guns. They're more Savile Row than street."

"You mean the members?"

"Sure, members - private clients, take your pick." She started towards the entrance. "Good luck, Veronica. I really do hope you find a way to nail him to the wall." Pulling open the front door, she turned, expectantly waiting to usher Veronica out into the hallway. "But don't come back here, okay?"

"If you change your mind," Veronica said, dropping her business card on the coffee table. "Call me at the office, or on my cell."

The look on Haley's face said it was never going to happen. Veronica left the apartment. The echo of the closing door followed her down the hall to the elevator. She jabbed the button with her thumb.

It was an odd conversation. Haley's initial nerves made sense. Scared Veronica was there at Sam's behest, she'd lied. But after assurances, it seemed like she'd be willing to help. That is until the mention of the private parties. Then, not only did her fear return, she'd become hostile. Maybe, in the abstract, the idea of punishing Sam was alluring, but when faced with the concrete fact of having to _do_ something, she wasn't so eager.

Unfortunately the visit left Veronica with even _more_ questions. Too many.

She fobbed open the car. What was the word Haley used? _Pochemuchka._ Veronica smiled. She'd have to remember it for one of Wyatt's ' _why, why, why'_ days. She'd also have to remember to _never_ say it around Logan, or else _she'd_ be the one saddled with a new nickname. He'd add it to his endless repertoire of short jokes and bossy comments.

Veronica returned to the freeway. North or South? A quick call to Gant Publishing said Casey wasn't in the office today, and she turned the car toward his home. As the real estate prices climbed, the properties thinned. Instead of four houses sharing an acre, these homes had an acre or five all to themselves.

Casey's house on Idle Hour Lane wasn't far from Black's Beach. In fact it was probably close enough to include one of the very coveted gate keys that allowed vehicle access to the beach. She made the right onto Blackgold, followed the gradual curve to his street, and made another right. The lane ended in a wide cul-de-sac with two gated driveways. An intercom and keypad were mounted on a low post at the edge of the tumbled cobblestone pavers. Veronica pulled the car close and rang the buzzer.

It took all her skills of persuasion and her most-winning smile directed at the security camera to convince the voice on the other end of the speaker that she _did_ know Casey, but eventually the gates parted, and Veronica was driving up to the sprawling modern farmhouse. Clad in white lap siding with on-trend black-steel windows and matching standing-seam metal roof, the mansion whispered class.

Casey was waiting for her beneath the portico. The front door standing open behind him offered her a glimpse of dark oak floors, exposed beams, and tons of natural light.

"Does this mean you're not going to invite me in?" Veronica asked, climbing the few steps to join him.

Smiling, he leaned in for a one-arm hug and bussed her cheek. "No, I just had to see it for myself."

"What? You didn't believe Veronica Mars would ever darken your door?"

"Mars?" He arched an eyebrow. "I thought you finally made an honest man out of Logan?"

"Well you know what they say, if you like it, then you should put a ring on it." She directed another glance at the open door. Casey took the hint, stepping back to allow her to precede him inside. "What about you, is there a Mrs. Casey?"

"I'm currently in between spouses," he answered, walking past her and moving deeper into the house. "My ex is enjoying her generous alimony in an apartment on the Seine."

 _Bitter much?_ "Should I offer my condolences or congratulations?"

Casey shrugged away her question and asked, "What brings you here, Veronica? I'm sure it's not to reminisce fondly about our days at Neptune High."

"No, not exactly." The house may have shouted class, but his manners didn't. Where was the offer of something to drink? Or at least an invitation to sit? For all his hospitality, they should have held their conversation on the porch. "So does this house come with a kitchen, or do elves just magically appear with food whenever you're hungry?" At his blank look, she added. "Gee Casey, I would love a cup of coffee, thanks for asking."

He didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed, but he did lead her into the kitchen. "I can have Lucia make coffee, or you can settle for a soda."

"Soda works." She slid onto a stool at the massive island, and waited until Casey fetched a can of Sunkist from the refrigerator before saying, "I'm here about your father."

"What's he done now?"

Still no love lost between father and son, but it didn't mean Casey would voluntarily spill all his secrets. And Veronica wasn't ready to make any confessions either. "Can I get a glass and some ice?"

Casey frowned at the soda can, but did as requested, taking down a tumbler from a floating open shelf, and using the ice dispenser in the door of the stainless-steel fridge. He set the glass on the counter in front of her.

"Thanks." Veronica took her time pouring. "Does your dad still work at Gant Publishing?"

Even though Casey inherited everything from his grandmother, his role as 'publisher' was honorific, and Bill Gant still managed the day-to-day operations in his position as Editor-in-Chief. At least that's how it had worked while Casey finished high school and attended college, but it was possible Bill had been ousted since.

"If by work you mean 'stop at the office when he's done traveling with his twenty-year-old girlfriend', then yeah, he still works there."

"I didn't realize your parents got divorced."

"They aren't," he said flatly. "Mom just chooses to pretend she's his _assistant_."

Juanita Gant had married up in the world and apparently she wasn't willing to risk her status as one of the ladies-who-lunch, even if it meant turning a blind eye to her husband's indiscretions. They should put that on the sign- _Welcome to Neptune, Where the Rich Get Away With Everything_.

Veronica sipped her drink. "Want me to look into her? I can do a background check, follow them around, get some photos?"

Casey leveled her with an appraising look. "Maybe."

"All I need is a name to get started." Veronica dug another business card from her purse—this one sans cell number—and dropped it on the counter. "You can call the office with the information, or send me an email."

The soft sell. She didn't need him wondering after her motives. Time to change the subject. "Has your father ever mentioned a man named Sam Carlucci?"

"No, but we're not exactly chummy." He dragged a stool to his side of the kitchen island, straddled it, and rested his arms on the marble counter. "Who is he?"

"What about a strip club called Shenanigans?"

Recognition widened his eyes, but he shook his head. "Never heard of it."

Veronica waited, letting the silence stretch. Challenging him would only make him defensive. Correction, _more_ defensive, and she didn't want to go home empty-handed. "Your father has."

"How do you know?" He scratched the side of his neck, and stared at a fixed point over her shoulder, refusing to make eye contact.

"The club's in a very tony neighborhood and your father helped make that happen - he pushed through a zoning variance." Veronica weighed her next words. "I'm not looking to cause trouble, Casey; I just want to know why."

He drummed his fingers on the counter. "I'm not sure."

Was he not sure about the reason, or not sure he should talk to her? Veronica gave him a little push. "Remember when we bonded over cow milking, bad poetry, and poinsettias? You can trust me."

His internal debate played across his face in rapidly shifting expressions. "There were checks. Large sums each month for… a year, maybe a little longer, and they were drawn on the company account." He reached for her soda can, shook it to confirm it was empty, and stood. "Want another one?"

"Okay."

Casey opened a cabinet near the sink, tossed the can, then retrieved a new one for her. After setting it near her glass, he paced back to the fridge and withdrew a beer for himself- an IPA she recognized, one with a fancy label and a ridiculous price tag. The eye roll was a reflex.

Thankfully Casey was too absorbed with his own thoughts to notice. "The accountant flagged the checks. Not because of the amount. I mean, all told, it was only a million dollars, but a strip club is not a legitimate business expense."

 _Only a million_. Money was still wasted on the rich. "So the checks were made payable to Shenanigans?"

"Dad said it was an investment, made a flimsy excuse about using the wrong account, said he meant to use his _personal_ checks." Casey frowned. "I thought he was just trying to hide it from my mother."

He probably WAS trying to hide it from his wife, but not for the reasons Casey suspected. Veronica's mind traveled a dark path. She hoped like hell she was wrong and it was something less sinister like— "Could it have been blackmail?"

Casey's head reared back in surprised confusion. "Blackmail? Who would pay to keep their attendance at a strip club quiet? That's like a regular Saturday night for ninety percent of the married guys I know."

His nonchalance provided Veronica with some insight into Casey's marriage and subsequent divorce. "Not for just _going_ there, but maybe there were, uh, _other_ activities?"

A bark of laughter erupted from him. "Pay a million bucks to hide sex with a stripper? Not in this lifetime." His smile disappeared long enough for him to take a sip of beer, but it returned as soon as he lowered the bottle, clearly still amused by her assumption. "It's probably nothing so sinister." He shook his head. "Were you always this jaded?"

Veronica bristled, but let the question go unchecked. Sharing MoonCalf Collective memories was one thing, reminding him she had very real reasons for being jaded would be straying into territory that was off-limits. "So this office assistant… is she your dad's first mistress?"

The abrupt return to the earlier subject had the desired effect- loosening Casey's tongue. "I wouldn't call her a mistress per se, she's just…"

"An extracurricular activity?"

Casey smirked. "Yeah, that… and no, she's not the first. I'm not even sure she's the only- there could be others."

Veronica filed away the information. "Have you ever been to Shenanigans? Taken an interest in checking out your father's"—she threw a pair of air quotes around the word—"investment?"

"No. Dad made it sound like a dive? He said he'd dumped the money in the club because he needed to realize a capital loss for the year."

That might be enough to explain the lack of 09er scum in the club. If ninety percent of Casey's friends DID frequent strip joints and he mentioned it was a dump, they'd probably steer clear. Was the loss of business an unintended consequence, or was Bill's lie a brilliant calculation designed to keep his son from learning too much?

She shouldered her bag. "Thanks for the drink and the conversation."

"I'll walk you out." Casey popped off his stool like he was spring-loaded, and started for the front door, barely waiting for her to follow. "I haven't seen Logan on the beach- does he still surf?"

"He's been surfing at Trestles."

"Tell him to give me a call; I've got vehicle access to Black's."

Ah, so he did have one of the coveted gate keys. It would probably be a real bummer for him if he knew Logan had one too- _and_ he hadn't needed to buy multi-million dollar real estate to acquire it either.

Veronica told him she'd have Logan get in touch (not likely) and said her goodbyes. Casey withdrew, swinging the door shut before she even left the porch. _Dick_.

She returned to her car, put the top down, and took the scenic route home-a futile attempt at letting the beauty of the coast drown the ugliness of her thoughts.


End file.
